iift  of 


if asou  swomc  pterce 


Edition  Limited  to 
250  Copies 


Poets'  Lincoln 

TRIBUTES  IN  VERSE  TO  THE 
MARTYRED  PRESIDENT 


Selected  by 

OSBORN  H.  OLDROYD 

AUTHOR  OFj"THE  ASSASSINATION  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN' 
AND   EDITOR   OF   THE   "WORDS   OF   LINCOLN" 


With  many  portraits  of  Lincoln, 

illustrations  of  events 

in  his  life,  etc. 


PUBLISHED  BY  THE  EDITOR  AT 
"THE  HOUSE  WHERE  LINCOLN  DIED' 

WASHINGTON,  D.  C. 
1915 


Copyright   1915, 
by  OSBORN  H.  OLDROYD 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

THE  Editor  is  most  grateful  to  the  various  authors  who 
have  willingly  given  their  consent  to  the  use  of  their 
respective  poems  in  the  compilation  of  this  volume.  It 
has  been  a  somewhat  difficult  problem,  not  only  to  select  the 
more  appropriate  productions,  but  also  to  find  the  names  of  their 
authors,  for  in  his  Lincoln  collection  there  are  many  hundreds 
of  poems  which  have  appeared  from  time  to  time  in  magazines, 
newspapers  and  other  productions,  some  of  which  are  accom 
panied  by  more  than  one  name  as  author  of  the  same  poem.  In 
a  number  of  instances  it  has  been  difficult  to  ascertain  the  name 
of  the  actual  owner  of  the  copyright,  the  poems  having  been 
printed  in  so  many  forms  without  the  copyright  mark  attached. 
The  Editor  in  particular  extends  his  grateful  acknowledg 
ment  to  the  Houghton  Mifflin  Company  for  permission  to  reprint 
the  "Emancipation  Group"  by  John  G.  Whittier;  the  "Life 
Mask"  by  Richard  Watson  Gilder;  "The  Hand  of  Lincoln"  by 
Clarence  Stedman;  "Commemoration  Ode"  by  James  Russell 
Lowell,  and  the  "Gettysburg  Address"  by  Bayard  Taylor;  to 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons  for  two  "Lincoln"  poems  by  Richard 
Henry  Stoddard;  and  to  the  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company  for  the 
poem  "Lincoln"  by  George  Henry  Boker. 

The  Editor  is  also  grateful  to  Dr.  Marion  Mills  Miller  for  his 
contribution  of  the  introduction  and  a  poem  specially  written, 
for  the  collection,  and  also  for  assistance  in  the  editorial  work. 


FOREWORD 

NO  great  man  has  ever  been  spoken  of  with  such  tender 
expressions  of  high  regard  as  has  been  Abraham  Lincoln. 
Especially  is  this  true  of  the  tributes  of  esteem  made 
by  the  poets  to  his  memory.  It  is  therefore  desirable  that  these 
should  be  preserved  for  future  generations,  and  at  this  time,  the 
fiftieth  anniversary  of  his  untimely  death,  it  is  peculiarly  proper 
that  they  should  be  presented  to  the  public. 

Although  they  are  chiefly  the  productions  of  American  authors, 
quite  a  number  are  from  the  pens  of  appreciative  citizens  of  other 
countries.  From  the  thousand  of  meritorious  poems  which 
have  been  written  about  Lincoln,  the  compiler,  after  serious 
consideration,  has  selected  those  within  as  appearing  to  be  gems; 
although  there  were  others  which  he  would  have  been  glad  to 
include  if  space  permitted. 

The  poems  and  illustrations  are  arranged  largely  in  the  chrono 
logical  order  of  their  application  to  the  events  in  the  life  of 
Lincoln.  The  intense  sympathy  and  warm  appreciation  por 
trayed  therein  for  our  Martyred  President,  as  well  as  their 
artistic  merit  assure  the  poems  a  sacred  place  in  the  heart  of 
every  patriotic  American. 

The  large  number  of  selected  portraits  and  illustrations  of 
events  connected  with  his  life,  service,  death  and  burial,  with 
brief  sketches  of  authors  of  the  following  poems,  also  forms  a 
compilation  of  rich  material  for  all  readers  of  Lincoln  literature. 

The  object  in  publishing  this  compilation  is  to  assist  in  pre 
serving  the  collection  of  memorials  now  contained  in  the  house 
in  which  Lincoln  died,  516  Tenth  Street,  Washington,  D.  C. 


OSBORN  H.  OLDROTD. 


Washington,  D.  C.,  September  twelve, 
Nineteen  hundred  and  fifteen. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTION — The  Poetic  Spirit  of  Lincoln,  by  Marion 

Mills  Miller      v 

MY  CHILDHOOD'S  HOME  I  SEE  AGAIN,  by  Abraham 

Lincoln      vi 

BUT  HERE'S  AN  OBJECT  MORE  OF  DREAD,  by  Abra 
ham  Lincoln viii 

OH,  WHY  SHOULD  THE  SPIRIT  OF  MORTAL  BE  PROUD? 

By  William  Knox ix 

SPEECH  AT  GETTYSBURG  (in  verse  form),  by  Abraham 

Lincoln      xiii 

SOLILOQUY  OF  KING  CLAUDIUS,  by  William  Shakes 
peare      xvii 

LINCOLN,  by  Julia  Ward  Howe 14 

THE  GREAT  OAK,  by  Bennett  Chappie 15 

LINCOLN,  by  Noah  Davis 17 

THE  BIRTH  OF  LINCOLN,  by  George  W.  Crofts      19 

MENDELSSOHN,  DARWIN,  LINCOLN,  by  Clarence  E.  Carr    .  20 

THE  NATAL  DAY  OF  LINCOLN,  by  James  Phinney  Baxter  .  22 

NANCY  HANKS,  by  Harriet  Monroe 25 

LINCOLN  THE  LABORER,  by  Richard  Henry  Stoddard     .    .  29 

A  PEACEFUL  LIFE,  by  James  Whitcomb  Riley 31 

LEADER  OF  His  PEOPLE,  by  William  Wilberforce  Newton  32 

LINCOLN,  by  Wilbur  Hazelton  Smith 35 

LINCOLN  IN  His  OFFICE  CHAIR,  by  James  Riley    ....  37 

THE  VOICE  OF  LINCOLN,  by  Elizabeth  Porter  Gould  ...  41 

THE  THOUGHTS  OF  LINCOLN,  by  Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps  .  43 
ON  THE  LIFE-MASK  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN,  by  Richard 

Watson  Gilder 45 

THE  HAND  OF  LINCOLN,  by  Edmund  Clarence  Stedman  .  47 
HONEST  ABE  OF  THE  WEST,  by  Edmund  Clarence  Stedman  51 
PRESIDENTIAL  CAMPAIGN,  1860,  by  William  Henry  Bur- 

leigh 53 

LINCOLN,  1809-FEBRUARY  12,  1909,  by  Madison  Cawein  .  56 

THE  MATCHLESS  LINCOLN,  by  Isaac  Bassett  Choate  ...  59 

LINCOLN,  by  Charlotte  Becker 61 

LINCOLN  AT  SPRINGFIELD,  1861,  by  Anna  Bache 65 

LINCOLN  CALLED  TO  THE  PRESIDENCY,  by  Henry  Wilson 

Clendenin 70 

LINCOLN  THE  MAN  OF  THE  PEOPLE,  by  Edwin  Markham  .  74 

LINCOLN,  by  John  Vance  Cheney 76 

LINCOLN'S  CHURCH  IN  WASHINGTON,  by  Lyman  Whitney 

Allen 80 

SONNET  IN  1862,  by  John  James  Piatt 83 

LINCOLN,  SOLDIER  OF  CHRIST,  in  Macmillan's  Magazine  .  85 

A  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  LINCOLN,  by  Hamilton  Schuyler  .  87 

THE  EMANCIPATION  GROUP,  by  John  Greenleaf  Whittier  .  91 

THE  LIBERATOR,  by  Theron  Brown 94 

To  PRESIDENT  LINCOLN,  by  Edmund  Oilier      96 

ON  FREEDOM'S  SUMMIT,  by  Charles  G.  Foltz 98 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

ADDRESS  DELIVERED  AT  THE  DEDICATION  OF  THE  CEME 
TERY  AT  GETTYSBURG,  by  Abraham  Lincoln    .    .    .  100 

GETTYSBURG  ODE,  by  Bayard  Taylor     .    .    .  _ 102 

LINCOLN'S  SECOND  INAUGURAL,    by   Benjamin   Franklin 

Taylor 104 

OH,  PATIENT  EYES!  by  Herman  Hagedorn 107 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN,  by  Margaret  Elizabeth  Sangster      .    .  109 

THE  MAN  LINCOLN,  by  Wilbur  Dick  Nesbit 113 

THE  MASTER,  by  Edwin  Arlington  Robinson 116 

LINCOLN,  by  Harriet  Monroe 119 

THE  EYES  OF  LINCOLN,  by  Walt  Mason 121 

HE  LEADS  Us  STILL,  by  Arthur  Guiterman 123 

LINCOLN,  by  S.  Weir  Mitchell 125 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN,  by  George  Alfred  Townsend      ....  126 

LINCOLN,  by  Paul  Lawrence  Dunbar 128 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN,  by  Alice  Gary      130 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN,  by  Rose  Terry  Cooke 132 

LINCOLN,  by  Frederick  Lucian  Hosmer 134 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN,  by  Charles  Monroe  Dickinson      .    .    .  136 

Sic  SEMPER  TYRANNIS!  by  Robert  Leigh  ton 139 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  FOULLY  ASSASSINATED,  by  Tom  Taylor,  140 

THE  DEATHBED 144 

LINCOLN  AND  STANTON,  by  Marion  Mills  Miller      ....  146 

THE  HOUSE  WHERE  LINCOLN  DIED,  by  Robert  Mackay  .    .  151 

IN  TOKEN  OF  RESPECT,  Translation  of  Latin  Verses  .    .  152 

ENGLAND'S  SORROW,  from  London  Fun      153 

THE  FUNERAL  HYMN  OF  LINCOLN,  by  Phineas  Densmore 

Gurley 155 

REST,  REST  FOR  HIM,  by  Harriet  McEwen  Kimball   .    .    .  157 
THE  FUNERAL  CAR  OF  LINCOLN,  by  Richard  Henry  Stod- 

dard 159 

THE  DEATH  OF  LINCOLN,  by  William  Cullen  Bryant     .    .  161 

ODE,  by  Henry  T.  Tuckerman 163 

TOLLING,  by  Lucy  Larcom 164 

REQUIEM  OF  LINCOLN,  by  Richard  Storrs  Willis      ....  167 

REQUIEM,  by  James  Nicoll  Johnston 168 

SERVICES  IN  MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN,  by  Oliver 

Wendell  Holmes      170 

SPRINGFIELD'S  WELCOME  TO  LINCOLN,  by  William  Allen   .  173 

LINCOLN,  by  Lucy  Hamilton  Hooper 175 

LET  THE  PRESIDENT  SLEEP,  by  James  M.  Stewart     ...  179 

THE  CENOTAPH  OF  LINCOLN,  by  James  Mackay     ....  181 

DEDICATION  POEM,  by  James  Judson  Lord 183 

THE  GRAVE  OF  LINCOLN,  by  Edna  Dean  Proctor     ....  186 

COMMEMORATION  ODE,  by  James  Russell  Lowell      ....  189 

AN  HORATIAN  ODE,  by  Richard  Henry  Stoddard    ....  193 

O  CAPTAIN!  MY  CAPTAIN!  by  Walt  Whitman      197 

ON  THE  ASSASSINATION  OF  LINCOLN,  by  Henry  De  Garrs  .  200 
POETICAL  TRIBUTE  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LIN 
COLN,  by  Emily  J.  Bugbee 201 

LINCOLN,  1865,  by  John  Nichol 204 

LINCOLN,  by  Christopher  Pearse  Cranch 206 

LINCOLN,  by  George  Henry  Boker 208 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN,  by  Phoebe  Gary  210 

LINCOLN,  by  Charles  Graham  Halpin  ("Miles  O'Reilly")  .  215 

THE  MARTYR  PRESIDENT 219 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN,  by  Eugene  J.  Hall 220 

THE  TOMB  OF  LINCOLN,  by  Samuel  Francis  Smith  .  .  .  222 

LINCOLN,  by  John  Townsend  Trowbridge 227 

HOMAGE  DUE  TO  LINCOLN,  by  Kinahan  Cornwallis  .  .  .  229 

THE  SCOTLAND  STATUE,  by  David  K.  Watson 231 

THE  UNFINISHED  WORK,  by  Joseph  Fulford  Folsom  .  .  .  234 

ONE  OF  OUR  PRESIDENTS,  by  Wendell  Phillips  Stafford  .  236 
ON  A  BRONZE  MEDAL  OF  LINCOLN,  by  Frank  Dempster 

Sherman 239 

THE  GLORY  THAT  SLUMBERED  IN  THE  GRANITE  ROCK,  by 

Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox 241 

THE  LINCOLN  BOULDER,  by  Louis  Bradford  Couch  .  .  .  243 

WHEN  LINCOLN  DIED,  by  James  Arthur  Edgerton  .  .  .  247 

HAD  LINCOLN  LIVED,  by  Amos  Russell  \Vells 250 

LET  His  MONUMENT  RISE,  by  Samuel  Green  Wheeler 

Benjamin      253 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

PRESIDENT  LINCOLN,  Photograph  by  Brady,  1864  Frontispiece 

LINCOLN,  from  a  Bust  by  Johannes  Gelert iv 

THE  LOG  CABIN,  Birthplace  of  Lincoln 13 

LINCOLN  BY  THE  CABIN  FIRE 16 

MENDELSSOHN,  DARWIN,  LINCOLN 20 

MONUMENT  TO  THE  MOTHER  OF  LINCOLN 25 

THE  RAIL  SPLITTER 28 

THE  BOY  LINCOLN,  by  Eastman  Johnson 30 

LINCOLN  THE  LAWYER,  from  an  Ambrotype,  1856  ....  34 

LINCOLN'S  OFFICE  CHAIR 36 

LINCOLN  AS  A  CANDIDATE  FOR  UNITED  STATES  SENATOR, 

from  an  Ambrotype  by  Gilmer,  1858 40 

LINCOLN  AT  THE  TIME  OF  DEBATE  WITH  DOUGLAS,  from 

an  Ambrotype,  1858 42 

THE  LINCOLN  LIFE-MASK,  by  Leonard  W.  Volk  ...  44 

THE  HAND  OF  LINCOLN,  a  Cast  by  Leonard  W.  Volk  .  .  46 
HON.  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN,  REPUBLICAN  CANDIDATE  FOR 

THE  PRESIDENCY,  1860,  painted  by  Hicks 49 

THE  "WIGWAM,"  Convention  Hall  in  Chicago,  1860  ...  50 
LINCOLN  AS  CANDIDATE  FOR  PRESIDENT,  from  an  Ambrotype, 

1860 52 

"HONEST  ABE,"  Campaign  Cartoon  of  1860 55 

LINCOLN  AS  CANDIDATE  FOR  PRESIDENT,  Photograph  by 

Hesler,  Chicago,  1860 58 

LINCOLN  AS  CANDIDATE  FOR  PRESIDENT,  Photograph  at 

Springfield,  111.,  1860 60 

CABIN  OF  LINCOLN'S  PARENTS,  on  Goose-Nest  Prairie,  111.  62 

LINCOLN  HOMESTEAD,  Springfield,  111.,  1861  64 

PRESIDENT  LINCOLN  AND  His  SECRETARIES,  JOHN  G. 

NICOLAY  AND  JOHN  HAY,  Photograph  at  Springfield, 

111.,  1861 67 

INDEPENDENCE  HALL,  PHILADELPHIA 69 

LINCOLN  IN  1858,  Photograph  by  S.  M.  Fassett,  Chicago,  71 

THE  CAPITOL,  at  Second  Inauguration  of  Lincoln  ....  73 

THE  WHITE  HOUSE 76 

WHERE  LINCOLN  WORSHIPPED,  New  York  Avenue  Pres 
byterian  Church,  Washington,  D.  C 79 

LINCOLN  IN  1858,  Photograph  Owned  by  Stuart  Brown, 

Springfield,  111 .  82 

PRESIDENT  LINCOLN,  Photograph  Autographed  for  Miss 

Speed 84 

LINCOLN  IN  FEBRUARY,  1860,  Photograph  by  Brady  .  .  86 

PRESIDENT  LINCOLN,  Photograph  by  Gardner  88 

EMANCIPATION  GROUP,  in  Park  Square,  Boston 90 

PRESIDENT  LINCOLN,  Photograph  by  Brady,  1863  ....  93 

PRESIDENT  LINCOLN,  Photograph  by  Gardner,  1863  ...  95 

PRESIDENT  LINCOLN,  Photograph  by  Brady 97 

LINCOLN  AT  GETTYSBURG 100 

PRESIDENT  LINCOLN  AND  His  SON  THOMAS  ("TAD")  .  .  103 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

PRESIDENT  LINCOLN,  Photograph  by  Brady 106 

PRESIDENT  LINCOLN,  Photograph  by  Brady 108 

PRESIDENT  LINCOLN,  Photograph  by  Gardner,  1864  ...  112 

PRESIDENT  LINCOLN  AT  ANTIETAM 115 

PRESIDENT  LINCOLN,  Photograph  by  Gardner,  1864  ...  118 
PRESIDENT-ELECT  LINCOLN,  Photograph  at  Springfield, 

111.,  1861 120 

PRESIDENT  LINCOLN,  Photograph  by  Brady,  1862  ....  122 
PRESIDENT  LINCOLN,  Photograph  by  Brady,  1864  ....  124 
STATUE  OF  LINCOLN  in  Hodgenville,  Ky.;  Adolph  A.  Wein 
man,  sculptor 126 

PRESIDENT  LINCOLN,  Photograph  by  Brady,  1864  ....  128 

PRESIDENT  LINCOLN,  Photograph  by  Gardner,  1865  .  .  .  130 

PRESIDENT  LINCOLN,  Photograph  by  Gardner,  1865  .  .  .  132 

PRESIDENT  LINCOLN,  Photograph  by  Brady,  1865  ....  134 

FORD'S  THEATRE,  WASHINGTON,  D.  C 138 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN,  FOULLY  ASSASSINATED,  Cartoon  in 

London  Punch 140 

DEATHBED  OF  LINCOLN 144 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  AND  EDWIN  M.  STANTON 146 

DEATH  OF  LINCOLN 149 

HOUSE  IN  WHICH  LINCOLN  DIED 150 

JOSEPHINE  OLDROYD  TIEFENTHALER  150 

THE  FUNERAL  OF  LINCOLN,  in  East  Room  of  White  House,  154 

THE  FUNERAL  CAR 158 

CITY  HALL,  NEW  YORK,  N.  Y 162 

ROTUNDA,  CITY  HALL 166 

ST.  JAMES  HALL,  BUFFALO,  N.  Y 168 

PRESIDENT  LINCOLN,  Photograph  by  Brady,  1863  ....  170 

LINCOLN  HOMESTEAD,  May  4,  1865 172 

STATE  CAPITOL,  ILLINOIS,  1865 175 

PUBLIC  VAULT,  OAK  RIDGE  CEMETERY,  SPRINGFIELD,  ILL.,  178 

FACADE  OF  PUBLIC  VAULT 180 

LINCOLN  MONUMENT,  in  Springfield,  111.,  Larken  G.  Mead, 

Architect 182 

STATUE  OF  LINCOLN,  Lincoln  Park,  Washington,  D.  C., 

Thomas  Ball,  sculptor 188 

STATUE  OF  LINCOLN,  by  Leonard  W.  Volk 192 

"THE  GOOD  GRAY  POET"  (Walt  Whitman) 196 

STATUE  OF  LINCOLN,  in  Washington,  D.  C.;  Lott  Flan- 

nery,  sculptor 199 

STATUE  OF  LINCOLN,  in  Muskegon,  Mich.;  Charles  Nie- 

haus,  sculptor 203 

LINCOLN  AND  CABINET  ("First  Reading  of  Emancipation 

Proclamation"),  Painted  by  Frank  B.  Carpenter  .  .  206 
STATUE  OF  LINCOLN,  in  Fairmount  Park,  Philadelphia, 

Randolph  Rogers,  sculptor 208 

PRESIDENT  LINCOLN,  Photograph  by  Brady,  1864  ....  210 
STATUE  OF  LINCOLN,  in  Lincoln  Park,  Chicago;  Augustus 

Saint  Gaudens,  sculptor 214 

TABLET  AT  PHILADELPHIA 218 

STATUE  OF  LINCOLN,  in  Rotunda  of  Capitol;  Vinnie  Ream, 

sculptor 222 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

STATUE  OF  LINCOLN,  in  Lincoln,  Neb.;    Daniel  Chester 

French,  sculptor  226 

STATUE  OF  LINCOLN,  in  Burlington,  Wis.;  George  E. 

Ganiere,  sculptor 228 

STATUE  OF  LINCOLN,  in  Edinburgh,  Scotland;  George  E. 

Bissell,  sculptor 231 

STATUE  OF  LINCOLN,  in  Newark,  N.  J.;  Gutzon  Borglum, 

sculptor 234 

CHILDREN  ON  THE  BORGLUM  STATUE 236 

HEAD  OF  LINCOLN,  Bronze  Medallion  in  Commemoration 

of  Lincoln  Centenary,  Struck  for  the  Grand  Army 

of  the  Republic 238 

MARBLE  HEAD  OF  LINCOLN,  in  Statuary  Hall,  Capitol; 

Gutzon  Borglum,  sculptor 240 

THE  LINCOLN  BOULDER,  at  Nyack,  N.  Y 243 

BAS-RELIEF  HEAD  OF  LINCOLN,  James  W.  Tuft,  sculptor  .  246 
A  STUDY  OF  LINCOLN,  Painting  by  Blendon  Campbell  .  249 
THE  LINCOLN  MEMORIAL,  at  Washington,  D.  C.,  Henry 

Bacon,  architect      252 


From 


LINCOLN 

bust  by  Johannes  Gelert 


INTRODUCTION 


THE  POETIC  SPIRIT  OF  LINCOLN 
By  MARION  MILLS  MILLER 

(See  biographical  sketch  on  page   146) 

SOME  years  ago,  while  editing  Henry  C.  Whitney's 
"Life  of  Lincoln"  I  showed  a  photograph  of  the 
bust  of  Lincoln  by  Johannes  Gelert,  the  most  in 
tellectual  to  my  mind  of  all  the  studies  of  his  face,  to 
a  little  Italian  shoeblack,  and  asked  him  if  he  knew 
who  it  was.     The  boy,  evidently  prompted  by  a  recent 
lesson    at    school,    said    questioningly,    "Whittier?  — 
Longfellow?"     I  replied,  "No,  it  is  Lincoln,  the  great 
President."     He  answered,  "Well,  he  looks  like  a  poet, 
anyway." 

This  verified  a  conclusion  to  which  I  had  already 
come:  Lincoln,  had  he  lived  in  a  region  of  greater 
culture,  such  as  New  England,  might  not  have  adopted 
the  engrossing  pursuits  of  law  and  politics,  but,  as  did 
Whittier,  have  remained  longer  on  the  farm  and  grad 
ually  taken  up  the  -calling  of  letters,  composing  verse 
of  much  the  same  order  as  our  Yankee  bards',  and 
poetry  of  even  higher  merit  than  some  produced. 

It  is  not  generally  known  that  Lincoln,  shortly  be 
fore  he  went  to  Congress,  wrote  verse  of  a  kind  to  com 
pare  favorably  with  the  early  attempts  of  American 
poets  such  as  those  named.  Thus  the  two  poems  of 
his  which  have  been  preserved,  for  his  early  lampoons 
on  his  neighbors  have  happily  been  lost,  are  equal  in 
poetic  spirit  and  metrical  art  to  Whittier 's  "The  Pris 
oner  for  Debt,"  to  which  they  are  strikingly  similar  in 
melancholic  mood. 

In  1846,  at  the  age  of  37,  Lincoln  conducted  a  literary 
correspondence  with  a  friend,  William  Johnson  by 
name,  of  like  poetic  tastes.  In  April  of  this  year  he 
wrote  the  following  letter  to  Johnson: 


vi  INTRODUCTION 


Tremont,  April  18,  1846. 

FRIEND  JOHNSTON:  Your  letter,  written  some  six  weeks 
since,  was  received  in  due  course,  and  also  the  paper  with  the 
parody.  It  is  true,  as  suggested  it  might  be,  that  I  have  never 
seen  Foe's  "Raven";  and  I  very  well  know  that  a  parody  is 
almost  entirely  dependent  for  its  interest  upon  the  reader's 
acquaintance  with  the  original.  Still  there  is  enough  in  the 
polecat,  self-considered,  to  afford  one  several  hearty  laughs.  I 
think  four  or  five  of  the  last  stanzas  are  decidedly  funny,  par 
ticularly  where  Jeremiah  "scrubbed  and  washed,  and  prayed 
and  fasted." 

I  have  not  your  letter  now  before  me;  but,  from  memory,  I 
think  you  ask  me  who  is  the  author  of  the  piece  I  sent  you,  and 
that  you  do  so  ask  as  to  indicate  a  slight  suspicion  that  I  myself 
am  the  author.  Beyond  all  question,  I  am  not  the  author.  I 
would  give  all  I  am  worth,  and  go  in  debt,  to  be  able  to  write  so 
fine  a  piece  as  I  think  that  is.  Neither  do  I  know  who  is  the 
author.  I  met  it  in  a  straggling  form  in  a  newspaper  last  summer, 
and  I  remember  to  have  seen  it  once  before,  about  fifteen  years 
ago,  and  this  is  all  I  know  about  it. 

The  piece  of  poetry  of  my  own  which  I  alluded  to,  I  was  led 
to  write  under  the  following  circumstances.  In  the  fall  of  1844, 
thinking  I  might  aid  some  to  carry  the  State  of  Indiana  for  Mr. 
Clay,  I  went  into  the  neighborhood  in  that  State  in  which  I  was 
raised,  where  my  mother  and  only  sister  were  buried,  and  from 
which  I  had  been  absent  about  fifteen  years. 

That  part  of  the  country  is,  within  itself,  as  unpoetical  as  any 
spot  of  the  earth;  but  still,  seeing  it  and  its  objects  and  inhab 
itants  aroused  feelings  in  me  which  were  certainly  poetry;  though 
whether  my  expression  of  those  feelings  is  poetry  is  quite  another 
question.  When  I  got  to  writing,  the  change  of  subject  divided 
the  thing  into  four  little  divisions  or  cantos,  the  first  only  of 
which  I  send  you  now,  and  may  send  the  others  hereafter. 

Yours  truly  A.  LINCOLN. 

My  childhood's  home  I  see  again, 

And  sadden  with  the  view; 
And  still,  as  memory  crowds  my  brain, 

There's  pleasure  in  it  too. 

O  Memory!    thou  midway  world 

'Twixt  earth  and  paradise, 
Where  things  decayed  and  loved  ones  lost 

In  dreamy  shadows  rise, 


POETIC    SPIRIT  OF  LINCOLN 


And,  freed  from  all  that's  earthly  vile, 
Seem  hallowed,  pure  and  bright, 

Like  scenes  in  some  enchanted  isle 
All  bathed  in  liquid  light. 

As  dusky  mountains  please  the  eye 

When  twilight  chases  day; 
As  bugle-notes  that,  passing  by, 

In  distance  die  away; 

As  leaving  some  grand  waterfall, 

We,  lingering,  list  its  roar  — 
So  memory  will  hallow  all 

We've  known  but  know  no  more. 

Near  twenty  years  have  passed  away 

Since  here  I  bid  farewell 
To  woods  and  fields,  and  scenes  of  play, 

And  playmates  loved  so  well. 

Where  many  were,  but  few  remain 

Of  old  familiar  things; 
But  seeing  them  to  mind  again 

The  lost  and  absent  brings. 

The  friends  I  left  that  parting  day, 
How  changed,  as  time  has  sped! 

Young  childhood  grown,  strong  manhood  gray; 
And  half  of  all  are  dead. 

I  hear  the  loved  survivors  tell 

How  nought  from  death  could  save, 

Till  every  sound  appears  a  knell, 
And  every  spot  a  grave. 

I  range  the  fields  with  pensive  tread, 

And  pace  the  hollow  rooms, 
And  feel  (companion  of  the  dead) 

I'm  living  in  the  tombs. 


In  September  he  wrote  the  following  letter: 

Springfield,  September  6,  1846. 

FRIEND  JOHNSTON:  You  remember  when  I  wrote  you 
from  Tremont  last  spring,  sending  you  a  little  canto  of  what  I 
called  poetry,  I  promised  to  bore  you  with  another  some  time. 
I  now  fulfil  the  promise.  The  subject  of  the  present  one  is  an 
insane  man;  his  name  is  Matthew  Gentry.  He  is  three  years 
older  than  I,  and  wrhen  we  were  boys  we  went  to  school  together. 
He  was  rather  a  bright  lad,  and  the  son  of  the  rich  man  of  a  very 

*2 


viii  INTRODUCTION 


poor  neighborhood.  At  the  age  of  nineteen  he  unaccountably 
became  furiously  mad,  from  which  condition  he  gradually  settled 
down  into  harmless  insanity.  When,  as  I  told  you  in  my  other 
letter,  I  visited  my  old  home  in  the  fall  of  1844,  I  found  him 
still  lingering  in  this  wretched  condition.  In  my  poetizing 
mood,  I  could  not  forget  the  impression  his  case  made  upon  me. 
Here  is  the  result: 

But  here's  an  object  more  of  dread 

Than  aught  the  grave  contains  — 
A  human  form  with  reason  fled, 

While  wretched  life  remains. 

When  terror  spread,  and  neighbors  ran 

Your  dangerous  strength  to  bind, 
And  soon,  a  howling,  crazy  man, 

Your  limbs  were  fast  confined; 

How  then  you  strove  and  shrieked  aloud, 

Your  bones  and  sinews  bared; 
And  fiendish  on  the  gazing  crowd 

With  burning  eyeballs  glared; 

And  begged  and  swore,  and  wept  and  prayed, 

With  maniac  laughter  joined; 
How  fearful  were  these  signs  displayed 

By  pangs  that  killed  the  mind! 

And  when  at  length  the  drear  and  long 

Time  soothed  thy  fiercer  woes, 
How  plaintively  thy  mournful  song 

Upon  the  still  night  rose! 

I've  heard  it  oft  as  if  I  dreamed, 

Far  distant,  sweet  and  lone, 
The  funeral  dirge  it  ever  seemed 

Of  reason  dead  and  gone. 

To  drink  its  strains  I've  stole  away, 

All  stealthily  and  still, 
Ere  yet  the  rising  god  of  day 

Had  streaked  the  eastern  hill. 

Air  held  her  breath;  trees  with  the  spell 

Seemed  sorrowing  angels  round, 
Whose  swelling  tears  in  dewdrops  fell 

Upon  the  listening  ground. 

But  this  is  past,  and  naught  remains 

That  raised  thee  o'er  the  brute: 
Thy  piercing  shrieks  and  soothing  strains 

Are  like,  forever  mute. 


POETIC   SPIRIT  OF  LINCOLN  ix 


Now  fare  thee  well!   More  thou  the  cause 

Than  subject  now  of  woe. 
All  mental  pangs  by  time's  kind  laws 

Hast  lost  the  power  to  know. 

O  death!   thou  awe-inspiring  prince 

That  keepst  the  world  in  fear, 
Why  dost  thou  tear  more  blest  ones  hence, 

And  leave  him  lingering  here? 

If  I  should  ever  send  another,  the  subject  will  be  a  "Bear  Hunt." 
Yours  as  ever,  A.  LINCOLN. 

The  poem  alluded  to  in  the  first  letter  is  undoubtedly 
"Oh,  Why  Should  the  Spirit  of  Mortal  Be  Proud?",  by 
William  Knox,  a  Scottish  poet,  known  to  fame  only  by 
its  authorship.  It  remained  the  favorite  of  Lincoln 
until  his  death,  being  frequently  alluded  to  by  him  in 
conversation  with  his  friends.  Because  it  so  aptly 
presents  Lincoln's  own  spirit  it  is  here  presented  in 
full.  During  his  Presidency  he  said: 

"There  is  a  poem  which  has  been  a  great  favorite  with  me 
for  years,  which  was  first  shown  me  when  a  young  man  by  a 
friend,  and  which  I  afterwards  saw  and  cut  from  a  newspaper 
and  learned  by  heart.  I  would  give  a  good  deal  to  know  who 
wrote  it,  but  I  have  never  been  able  to  ascertain." 

Then,  half  closing  his  eyes,  he  repeated  the  verses: 

OH,  WHY  SHOULD  THE  SPIRIT  OF  MORTAL 

BE  PROUD? 
By  WILLIAM  KNOX. 

William  Knox  was  born  at  Firth,  in  the  parish  of  Lilliesleaf, 
in  the  county  of  Roxburghshire,  on  the  17th  of  August,  1789. 
From  his  early  youth  he  composed  verses.  He  merited  the 
attention  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  who  afforded  him  pecuniary  assist 
ance.  He  died  November  12,  1825,  at  the  age  of  thirty-six. 

Oh!  why  should  the  spirit  of  mortal  be  proud? 
Like  a  swift-flitting  meteor,  a  fast-flying  cloud, 
The  flash  of  the  lightning,  a  break  of  the  wave, 
He  passes  from  life  to  his  rest  in  the  grave. 

The  leaves  of  the  oak  and  the  willow  shall  fade, 

Be  scattered  around  and  together  be  laid; 

And  the  young  and  the  old,  and  the  low  and  the  high 

Shall  molder  to  dust  and  together  shall  lie. 


INTRODUCTION 


The  infant  a  mother  attended  and  loved, 
The  mother  that  infant's  affection  who  proved, 
The  husband  that  mother  and  infant  who  blest, 
Each,  all,  are  away  to  their  dwellings  of  rest. 

The  maid  on  whose  cheek,  on  whose  brow,   in  whose  eye, 
Shone  beauty  and  pleasure,  her  triumphs  are  by; 
And  the  mem'ry  of  those  who  loved  her  and  praised 
Are  alike  from  the  minds  of  the  living  erased. 

The  hand  of  the  king  that  the  scepter  hath  borne, 
The  brow  of  the  priest  that  the  miter  hath  worn, 
The  eye  of  the  sage  and  the  heart  of  the  brave 
Are  hidden  and  lost  in  the  depths  of  the  grave. 

The  peasant  whose  lot  was  to  sow  and  to  reap, 
The  herdsman  who  climbed  with  his  goats  up  the  steep, 
The  beggar  who  wandered  in  search  of  his  bread, 
Have  faded  away  like  the  grass  that  we  tread. 

The  saint  who  enjoyed  the  communion  of  heaven, 
The  sinner  who  dared  to  remain  unforgiven, 
The  wise  and  the  foolish,  the  guilty  and  just, 
Have  quietly  mingled  their  bones  in  the  dust. 

So  the  multitude  goes  like  the  flower  or  the  weed 
That  withers  away  to  let  others  succeed, 
So  the  multitude  comes,  even  those  we  behold, 
To  repeat  every  tale  that  has  often  been  told. 

For  we  are  the  same  that  our  fathers  have  been; 
We  see  the  same  sights  our  fathers  have  seen; 
We  drink  the  same  streams,  and  view  the  same  sun, 
And  run  the  same  course  our  fathers  have  run. 

The  thoughts  we  are  thinking  our  fathers  would  think, 
From  the  death  we  are  shrinking  our  fathers  would  shrink; 
To  the  life  we  are  clinging  they  also  would  cling, 
But  it  speeds  from  us  all  like  a  bird  on  the  wing. 

They  loved,  but  the  story  we  cannot  unfold; 
They  scorned,  but  the  heart  of  the  haughty  is  cold; 
They  grieved,  but  no  wail  from  their  slumber  will  come; 
They  joyed,  but  the  tongue  of  their  gladness  is  dumb. 

They  died,  ay,  they  died.     We  things  that  are  now, 

That  walk  on  the  turf  that  lies  over  their  brow, 

And  make  in  their  dwellings  a  transient  abode, 

Meet  the  things  that  they  met  on  their  pilgrimage  road. 

Yea,  hope  and  despondency,  pleasure  and  pain, 
Are  mingled  together  in  sunshine  and  rain: 
And  the  smile  and  the  tear,  the  song  and  the  dirge, 
Still  follow  each  other  like  surge  upon  surge. 


POETIC   SPIRIT  OF  LINCOLN 


'Tis  the  wink  of  an  eye,  'tis  the  draught  of  a  breath, 
From  the  blossom  of  health  to  the  paleness  of  death, 
From  the  gilded  salon  to  the  bier  and  the  shroud,  — 
Oh,  why  should  the  spirit  of  mortal  be  proud? 

"The  Last  Leaf,"  by  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  was 
also  a  favorite  poem  of  Lincoln,  says  Henry  C.  Whitney, 
his  friend  and  biographer  (in  his  "Life  of  Lincoln," 
Vol.  I,  page  238): 

"Over  and  over  again  I  have  heard  him  repeat: 

The  mossy  marbles  rest 

On  the  lips  that  he  has  prest 

In  their  bloom; 

And  the  names  he  loved  to  hear 
Have   been    carved   for   many   a   year 

On  the  tomb. 

and  tears  would  come  unbidden  to  his  eyes,  probably 
at  thought  of  the  grave  (his  mother's)  at  Gentryville, 
or  that  in  the  bend  of  the  Sangamo"  (of  Ann  Rutledge, 
his  first  love,  who  died  shortly  before  the  time  set 
for  their  wedding,  and  Avhose  memory  Lincoln  ever 
kept  sacred). 

While  Lincoln,  so  far  as  can  be  ascertained,  wrote 
nothing  in  verse  after  1846,  he  developed  in  his  speeches 
a  literary  style  which  is  poetical  in  the  highest  sense 
of  that  term.  More  than  all  American  statesmen  his 
utterances  and  writings  possess  that  classic  quality 
whose  supreme  expression  is  found  in  Greek  literature. 
This  is  because  Lincoln  had  an  essentially  Hellenic 
mind.  First  of  all  the  architecture  of  his  thought  was 
that  of  the  Greek  masters,  who,  whether  as  Phidias 
they  built  the  Parthenon  to  crown  with  harmonious 
beauty  the  Acropolis,  or  as  Homer  they  recorded  in 
swelling  narrative  from  its  dramatic  beginning  the 
strife  of  the  Achaeans  before  Troy,  or  even  as  Euclid, 
they  developed  from  postulates  the  relations  of  space, 
had  a  deep  insight  into  the  order  in  wrhich  mother 
nature  was  striving  to  express  herself,  and  a  reverent 
impulse  to  aid  her  in  bodying  forth  according  to  her 
methods  the  ideal  forms  of  the  cosmos,  the  world  of 
beauty,  no  less  within  the  soul  of  man  than  without 
it,  which  was  intended  by  such  help  to  be  realized  as  a 
whole  in  the  infinity  of  time,  and  in  part  in  the  vision 


INTRODUCTION 


of  every  true  workman.  In  short,  Lincoln  had  a  pro 
found  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things,  that  which  Aristotle, 
the  scientific  analyst  of  human  thought  and  the  phil 
osopher  of  its  proper  expression,  called  "poetic  justice." 
He  strove  to  make  his  reasoning  processes  strictly 
logical,  and  to  this  end  carried  with  him  as  he  rode 
the  legal  circuit  not  law-books,  but  a  copy  of  Euclid's 
geometry,  and  passed  his  time  on  the  way  demonstrat 
ing  to  his  drivers  the  theorems  therein  proposed.  "Dem 
onstrate"  he  said  he  considered  to  be  the  greatest  word 
in  the  English  language.  He  constructed  every  one  of 
his  later  speeches  on  the  plan  of  a  Euclidean  solution. 
His  Cooper  Union  speech  on  "Slavery  as  the  Fathers 
Viewed  It,"  which  contributed  so  largely  to  his  Presi 
dential  nomination,  was  such  a  demonstration,  settling 
what  was  thereafter  never  attempted  to  be  contro 
verted:  his  contention  that  the  makers  of  the  Con 
stitution  merely  tolerated  property  in  human  flesh  and 
blood  as  a  primitive  and  passing  phase  of  civilization, 
and  never  intended  that  it  should  be  perpetuated  by 
the  charter  of  the  Republic. 

So,  too,  the  Gettysburg  speech,  brief  as  it  is,  is  the 
statement  of  a  thesis,  the  principles  upon  which  the 
Fathers  founded  the  nation,  and  of  the  heroic  demon 
stration  of  the  same  by  the  soldiers  fallen  on  the  field, 
and  the  addition  of  a  moral  corollary  of  this,  the  high 
resolve  of  the  living  to  prosecute  the  work  until  the 
vision  of  the  Fathers  was  realized. 

In  substance  of  thought  and  in  form  of  its  presenta 
tion  the  speech  is  as  perfect  a  poem  as  ever  was  written, 
and  even  in  the  minor  qualities  of  artistic  language — 
rhythm  and  cadence,  phonetic  euphony,  rhetorical 
symbolism,  and  that  subtle  reminiscence  of  a  great 
literary  and  spiritual  inheritance,  the  Bible,  which 
stands  to  us  as  Homer  did  to  the  ancients— it  excels  the 
finest  gem  to  be  found  in  poetic  cabinets  from  the 
Greek  Anthology  downward.  Only  because  it  was  not 
written  in  the  typography  of  verse,  with  capitalized 
and  paragraphed  initial  words  at  the  beginning  of  each 
thought-group  of  words,  has  it  failed  of  recognition  as 
a  poem  by  academic  minds.  Had  Walt  Whitman  com 
posed  the  address,  and  printed  it  in  the  above  manner, 
it  would  now  appear  in  every  anthology  of  poetry  pub- 


POETIC   SPIRIT  OF  LINCOLN  xiii 

lished  since  its  date.  To  convince  of  this  those  conven 
tional  people  who  must  have  an  ocular  demonstration  of 
form  in  order  to  compare  the  address  with  accepted 
examples  of  poetry,  I  will  dare  to  incur  the  condemna 
tion  of  those  who  rightly  look  upon  such  a  departure 
from  Lincoln's  own  manner  of  writing  the  speech  as 
profanation,  and  present  it  in  the  shape  of  vers  libre. 
For  the  latter  class  of  readers  this,  the  greatest  poem 
by  Lincoln,  the  greatest,  indeed,  yet  produced  in 
America,  may  be  preferably  read  in  the  original  form 
on  page  100  of  this  collection.  I  trust  that  these, 
especially' if  they  are  teachers  of  literature,  will  pardon, 
for  the  sake  of  others  less  cultivated  in  poetic  taste, 
what  may  appear  a  duplication  here,  unnecessary  to 
themselves,  of  the  address. 

SPEECH  AT  GETTYSBURG 
By  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

Four  score  and  seven  years  ago 

Our  fathers  brought  forth  on  this  continent 

A  new  nation, 

Conceived  in  liberty, 

And  dedicated  to  the  proposition 

That  all  men  are  created  equal. 

Now  we  are  engaged  in  a  great  civil  war, 

Testing  whether  that  nation, 

Or  any  nation  so  conceived  and  so  dedicated, 

Can  long  endure. 

We  are  met  on  a  great  battle-field  of  that  war. 

We  have  come  to  dedicate  a  portion  of  that  field 

As  a  final  resting-place 

For  those  who  here  gave  their  lives 

That  that  nation  might  live. 

It  is  altogether  fitting  and  proper 

That  we  should  do  this. 

But,  in  a  larger  sense, 

We  cannot  dedicate  — 

We  cannot  consecrate  — 

We  cannot  hallow  — 

This  ground. 

The  brave  men,  living  and  dead, 

Who  struggled  here, 

Have  consecrated  it  far  above  our  poor  power 

To  add  or  detract. 

The  world  will  little  note  nor  long  remember 

What  we  say  here, 


xiv  INTRODUCTION 


But  it  can  never  forget 

What  they  did  here. 

It  is  for  us,  the  living,  rather, 

To  be  dedicated  here  to  the  unfinished  work 

Which  they  who  fought  here  have  so  nobly  advanced. 

It  is  rather  for  us  to  be  here  dedicated 

To  the  great  task  remaining  before  us  — 

That  from  these  honored  dead 

We  take  increased  devotion  to  that  cause 

For  which  they  gave  the  last  full  measure  of  devotion; 

That  we  here  highly  resolve 

That  these  dead  shall  not  have  died  in  vain; 

That  this  nation,  under  God, 

Shall  have  a  new  birth  of  freedom; 

And  that  government  of  the  people, 

By  the  people,  and  for  the  people 

Shall  not  perish  from  the  earth. 

Lincoln  attained  this  classic  perfection  of  ordered 
thought,  and  with  it,  as  an  inevitable  accompaniment 
this  classic  beauty  of  expression,  only  by  great  struggle. 
He  became  a  poet  of  the  first  rank  only  by  virtue  of 
his  moral  spirit.  He  was  continually  correcting  defi 
ciencies  in  his  character,  which  were  far  greater  than 
is  generally  received,  owing  to  the  tendency  of  American 
historians  of  the  tribe  of  Parson  Weems  to  find  by  force 
illustrations  of  moral  heroism  in  the  youth  of  our  great 
men.  Thus  Lincoln  is  represented  as  a  noble  lad,  who, 
having  allowed  a  borrowed  book  to  be  ruined  by  rain, 
went  to  the  owner  and  offered  to  "pull  fodder"  to 
repay  him,  which  the  man  ungenerously  permitted 
him  to  do.  The  truth  is,  that  the  neighbor,  to  whom 
the  book  was  a  cherished  possession,  required  him  to 
do  the  work  in  repayment,  and  that  Lincoln  not  only 
did  it  grudgingly,  but  afterwards  lampooned  the  man 
so  severely  in  satiric  verse  that  he  was  ashamed  to 
show  himself  at  neighborhood  gatherings.  All  the 
people  about  Gentryville  feared  Lincoln's  caustic  wit, 
and  disliked  him  for  it,  although  they  were  greatly 
impressed  with  his  ability  exhibited  thereby.  Lincoln 
recognized  his  moral  obliquity,  and  curbed  his  propen 
sity  for  satire,  which  was  a  case  of  that  "exercise  of 
natural  faculty"  which  affects  all  gifted  persons.  And 
when  he  left  that  region  he  visited  all  the  neighbors, 
and  asked  pardon  of  those  whom  he  had  ridiculed.  The 
true  Lincoln  is  a  far  better  example  to  boys  than  the 


POETIC   SPIRIT  OF  LINCOLN 


fictitious  one,  in  that  he  had  more  unlovely  traits  at 
first  than  the  average  lad,  yet  he  reformed,  with  the 
result  that,  when  he  went  to  new  scenes,  he  speedily 
became  the  most  popular  young  man  in  the  neighbor 
hood.  He  was  one  of  those  who 

"rise  on  stepping  stones 
Of  their  dead  selves  to  higher  things." 

The  reformation  of  his  character  by  self  examina 
tion  and  determination  not  to  make  the  same  mistake 
again  seems  to  have  induced  similar  effects  and  methods 
for  their  attainment  in  the  case  of  his  intellectual  de 
velopment.  Whatever  the  connection,  both  regenera 
tions  proceeded  apace.  Lincoln  at  first  was  a  shallow 
thinker,  accepting  without  examination  the  views  of 
others,  especially  popular  statesmen,  such  as  Henry 
Clay,  whose  magnetic  personality  was  drawing  to  him 
self  the  high-spirited  young  men  of  the  West.  Some 
of  the  political  doctrines  which  Lincoln  then  adopted 
he  retained  to  the  end,  these  being  on  subjects  such  as 
taxation  and  finance  whose  moral  bearing  was  not 
apparent,  and  therefore  into  which  he  never  inquired 
closely,  for  Lincoln's  mind  could  not  be  profoundly  in 
terested  in  any  save  a  moral  question.  When  he  found 
that  a  revered  statesman  was  weak  upon  a  crucial 
moral  issue,  he  repressed  his  innate  tendency  to  loyalty 
and  rejected  him.  Thus,  after  a  visit  to  Henry  Clay 
in  Kentucky,  when  the  slavery  question  was  arising  to 
vex  the  country  despite  the  efforts  the  aged  statesman 
had  made  to  settle  it  by  the  compromise  of  1850, 
Lincoln  returned  disillusioned,  having  found  that  the 
light  he  himself  possessed  on  the  subject  was  clearer 
than  that  of  his  old  leader.  The  eulogy  \vhich  he  de 
livered  on  the  death  of  Clay,  which  occurred  shortly 
afterward  (in  1852),  is  the  most  perfunctory  of  all  his 
addresses. 

Indeed,  not  till  the  time  of  the  Repeal  of  the  Missouri 
Compromise  of  1854,  which  brought  Lincoln  back  into 
politics  by  its  overthrow  of  what  he  regarded  as  the 
constitutional  exclusion  of  slavery  from  the  Territories, 
did  he  rise  to  his  highest  powers  as  a  thinker  and 
speaker.  Lincoln  had  been  defeated  for  reelection  to 


xvi  INTRODUCTION 


Congress  because  of  his  opposition,  though  not  highly 
moral  in  character,  to  the  popular  Mexican  war,  and, 
regarding  himself  as  a  political  failure,  he  had  devoted 
himself  to  law.  His  most  notable  speech  in  the  House 
of  Representatives,  a  well  composed  satirical  arraign 
ment  of  President  Polk  for  throwing  the  country  into 
war,  had  failed  utterly  of  its  intended  effect,  probably 
because  of  its  trimming  partisan  tone.  In  1854  he 
was  relieved  of  the  trammels  of  party,  the  Whigs 
having  gone  to  smash.  Anti-slavery  had  become  a 
great  moral  movement,  and  he  was  drawn  into  its 
current.  Almost  at  once  he  became  its  Western  leader. 
His  speech  against  the  Repeal  of  the  Missouri  Com 
promise  which  had  been  effected  by  his  inveterate 
antagonist,  Senator  Stephen  A.  Douglas,  was  his  first 
classic  achievement  in  argumentative  oratory.  While 
in  the  greater  aspect  of  artistic  composition,  the  form 
of  the  address  as  a  whole,  his  master  was  Euclid,  in 
minor  points  the  influence  of  Shakespeare,  of  whom 
Lincoln  had  become  a  great  reader,  was  apparent,  as 
indicated  by  a  quotation  from  the  dramatist,  and  an 
application  to  Senator  Douglas  of  the  scene  of  Lady 
Macbeth  trying  to  wash  out  the  indelible  stain  upon 
her  hand.  Also  the  Bible  was  the  source  of  strong  and 
telling  phrases  and  figures  of  speech.  Thus  he  de 
nominated  slavery  as  "the  great  Behemoth  of  danger," 
and  asked,  "shall  the  strong  grip  of  the  nation  be 
loosened  upon  him,  to  intrust  him  to  the  hands  of  his 
feeble  keepers?" 

And,  in  the  following  passage,  characteristic  of  the 
new  Lincoln,  I  think  that  either  Shakespeare  and  the 
Bible  had  combined  to  inspire  him  with  graphic  descrip 
tion  of  character  and  moral  indignation,  or  they  en 
forced  these  native  powers. 

"Again,  you  have  among  you  a  sneaking  individual 
of  the  class  of  native  tyrants  known  as  the  'Slave- 
Dealer'.  He  watches  your  necessities,  and  crawls  up 
to  buy  your  slave  at  a  speculative  price.  If  you  can 
not  help  it,  you  sell  to  him;  but  if  you  can  help  it,  you 
drive  him  from  your  door.  You  despise  him  utterly. 
You  do  not  recognize  him  as  a  friend,  or  even  as  an 
honest  man.  Your  children  must  not  play  with  his; 
they  may  rollick  freely  with  the  little  negroes,  but  not 


POETIC   SPIRIT  OF  LINCOLN  xvii 


with  the  slave-dealer's  children.  If  you  are  obliged  to 
deal  with  him  you  try  to  get  through  the  job  without 
so  much  as  touching  him.  It  is  common  with  you  to 
join  hands  with  the  men  you  meet,  but  with  the  slave- 
dealer  you  avoid  the  ceremony  —  instinctively  shrink 
ing  from  the  snaky  contact." 

Of  Lincoln's  critical  appreciation  of  Shakespeare 
Frank  B.  Carpenter,  the  artist  of  the  "First  Reading 
of  the  Emancipation  Proclamation"  (see  illustration 
on  page  206),  writes  in  his  "Six  Months  at  the  White 
House  with  Abraham  Lincoln"  as  follows: 

"Presently  the  conversation  turned  upon  Shakspeare, 
of  whom  it  is  well  known  Mr.  Lincoln  was  very  fond. 
He  once  remarked,  'It  matters  not  to  me  whether 
Shakespeare  be  well  or  ill  acted;  with  him  the  thought 
suffices.'  Edwin  Booth  was  playing  an  engagement 
at  this  time  at  Grover's  Theatre.  He  had  been  an 
nounced  for  the  coming  evening  in  his  famous  part  of 
Hamlet.  The  President  had  never  witnessed  his  rep 
resentation  of  this  character,  and  he  proposed  being 
present.  The  mention  of  this  play,  which  I  afterward 
learned  had  at  all  times  a  peculiar  charm  for  Mr. 
Lincoln's  mind,  waked  up  a  train  of  thought  I  was  not 
prepared  for.  Said  he, —  and  his  words  have  often 
returned  to  me  with  a  sad  interest  since  his  own  assassi 
nation, — 'There  is  one  passage  of  the  play  of  "Hamlet" 
which  is  very  apt  to  be  slurred  over  by  the  actor,  or 
omitted  altogether,  which  seems  to  me  the  choicest 
part  of  the  play.  It  is  the  soliloquy  of  the  King, 
after  the  murder.  It  always  struck  me  as  one  of  the 
finest  touches  of  nature  in  the  world.' 

"Then,  throwing  himself  into  the  very  spirit  of  the 
scene,  he  took  up  the  words :  — 

a'O  my  offence  is  rank,  it  smells  to  heaven; 
It  hath  the  primal  eldest  curse  upon't, 
A  brother's  murder!  —  Pray  can  I  not, 
Though  inclination  be  as  sharp  as  will; 
My  stronger  guilt  defeats  my  strong  intent; 
And,  like  a  man  to  double  business  bound, 
I  stand  in  pause  where  I  shall  first  begin, 
And  both  neglect.     What  if  this  cursed  hand 
Were  thicker  than  itself  with  brother's  blood? 
Is  there  not  rain  enough  in  the  sweet  heavens 
To  wash  it  white  as  snow?     Whereto  serves  mercy 


xviii  INTRODUCTION 


But  to  confront  the  visage  of  offence; 

And  what's  in  prayer  but  this  twofold  force  — 

To  be  forestalled  ere  we  come  to  fall, 

Or  pardoned,  being  down?     Then  I'll  look  up; 

My  fault  is  past.     But  O  what  form  of  prayer 

Can  serve  my  turn?     Forgive  me  my  foul  murder?  — 

That  cannot  be;   since  I  am  still  possessed 

Of  those  effects  for  which  I  did  the  murder, — 

My  crown,  my  own  ambition,  and  my  queen. 

May  one  be  pardoned  and  retain  the  offence? 
In  the  corrupted  currents  of  this  wrorld, 
Offence's  gilded  hand  may  shove  by  justice, 
And  oft  'tis  seen  the  wicked  prize  itself 
Buys  out  the  law;    but  'tis  not  so  above. 
There  is  no  shuffling;    there  the  action  lies 
In  its  true  nature;    and  we  ourselves  compelled, 
Even  to  the  teeth  and  forehead  of  our  faults, 
To  give  in  evidence.     What  then?     What  rests? 
Try  what  repentance  can;    what  can  it  not? 
Yet  what  can  it  when  one  cannot  repent? 

O  wretched  state!   O  bosom  black  as  death! 
O  bruised  soul  that,  struggling  to  be  free, 
Art  more  engaged!    Help,  angels,  make  assay! 
Bow,  stubborn  knees!    And  heart  with  strings  of  steel, 
Be  soft  as  sinews  of  the  new-born  babe; 
All  may  be  well!' 

"He  repeated  this  entire  passage  from  memory,  with  a 
feeling  and  appreciation  unsurpassed  by  anything  I 
ever  witnessed  upon  the  stage.  Remaining  in  thought 
for  a  few  moments,  he  continued:  — 

'  'The  opening  of  the  play  of  "King  Richard  the 
Third"  seems  to  me  often  entirely  misapprehended.  It  is 
quite  common  for  an  actor  to  come  upon  the  stage, 
and,  in  a  sophomoric  style,  to  begin  with  a  flourish :  — 

"  'Now  is  the  winter  of  our  discontent 

Made  glorious  summer  by  this  sun  of  York, 
And  all  the  clouds  that  lowered  upon  our  house, 
In  the  deep  bosom  of  the  ocean  buried.' 

"  'Now,'  said  he,  'this  is  all  wrong.  Richard,  you  re 
member,  had  been,  and  was  then  plotting  the  destruc 
tion  of  his  brothers,  to  make  room  for  himself.  Out 
wardly,  the  most  loyal  to  the  newly  crowned  king, 
secretly  he  could  scarcely  contain  his  impatience  at  the 
obstacles  still  in  the  way  of  his  own  elevation.  He 
appears  upon  the  stage,  just  after  the  crowning  of 


POETIC   SPIRIT  OF  LINCOLN 


Edward,  burning  with  repressed  hate  and  jealousy. 
The  prologue  is  the  utterance  of  the  most  intense 
bitterness  and  satire.'  Then,  unconsciously  assuming 
the  character,  Mr.  Lincoln  repeated,  also  from  memory, 
Richard's  soliloquy,  rendering  it  with  a  degree  of  force 
and  power  that  made  it  seem  like  a  new  creation  to 
me.  Though  familiar  with  the  passage  from  boyhood, 
I  can  truly  say  that  never  till  that  moment  had  I  fully 
appreciated  its  spirit.  I  could  not  refrain  from  laying 
down  my  palette  and  brushes,  and  applauding  heartily 
upon  his  conclusion,  saying,  at  the  same  time,  half  in 
earnest,  that  I  was  not  sure  but  that  he  had  made  a 
mistake  in  the  choice  of  a  profession,  considerably,  as 
may  be  imagined,  to  his  amusement.  Mr.  Sinclair  has 
since  repeatedly  said  to  me  that  he  never  heard  these 
choice  passages  of  Shakspeare  rendered  with  more 
effect  by  the  most  famous  of  modern  actors." 

Lincoln's  sense  of  the  classic  phrase  seems  to  have 
been  native  with  him,  for  we  find  it  in  his  earliest 
utterances.  Such  a  phrase  appears  in  homely  proverb 
ial  form  in  his  first  speech:  "My  politics  are  short  and 
sweet,  like  the  old  woman's  dance."  Impaired  in 
rhythm  of  thought  and  sound  by  an  awkward,  though 
logical,  parenthetical  expression,  another  phrase  stands 
out  in  a  "spread-eagle"  passage  from  his  first  formal 
address,  that  on  "The  Perpetuation  of  Our  Political 
Institutions." 

"All  the  armies  of  Europe,  Asia,  and  Africa  com 
bined,  with  all  the  treasure  of  earth  (our  own  excepted) 
in  its  military  chest,  with  a  Bonaparte  for  a  commander, 
could  not  by  force  take  a  drink  from  the  Ohio  or  make  a 
track  on  the  Blue  Ridge  in  a  trial  of  a  thousand  years." 

And  in  a  eulogy  on  Washington,  Lincoln  early 
achieved  a  line  which  in  phonetic  quality,  rhetorical 
figure  and  rhythmic  cadence  is  pure  poetry,  though 
not  of  an  exceptional  order. 

"In  solemn  awe  we  pronounce  the  name,  and  in  its 
naked  deathless  splendor  leave  it  shining  on." 

In  an  article  entitled  "Lincoln's  Literary  Experi 
ments,"  by  John  G.  Nicolay,  one  of  Lincoln's  two 
private  secretaries,  which  was  published  in  the  Century 
Magazine  for  April,  1894,  are  reproduced  Lincoln's 
notes  of  one  lyceum  lecture  on  "Niagara  Falls,"  and 


xx  INTRODUCTION 


the  text  of  another  on  * 'Discoveries,  Inventions  and 
Improvements."  These,  however,  detract,  if  any 
thing,  from  Lincoln's  reputation  as  a  writer,  for  in 
choice  of  subjects  and  in  style  of  treatment  there  is 
seen  an  almost  discreditable  stooping  of  a  man  of 
genius,  even  in  his  function  of  teacher,  to  the  low  popu 
lar  taste  of  the  West  at  the  time.  In  the  first  lecture 
Lincoln  presented  the  statistics  of  the  water  power  of 
Niagara  Falls  for  each  minute,  and  led  his  hearers  from 
this  base  to  the  "contemplation  of  the  vast  power  the 
sun  is  constantly  exerting  in  the  quiet  noiseless  opera 
tion  of  lifting  water  up  to  be  rained  down  again."  Yet 
at  this  point  he  stopped  short  of  his  duty  as  an  edu 
cator,  for  he  made  no  suggestion  as  to  the  utilization 
of  this  power.  He  was  satisfied  with  giving  the  people 
what  they  had  come  for  —  the  pleasant  excitation  of 
a  mental  faculty,  that  of  the  imagination  in  its  primary 
form  of  wonder  at  the  grandeur  of  the  material  universe. 
In  short,  he  was  acting  as  a  mere  entertainer — as  so 
many  of  our  public  men  do  now  at  "Chautauquas." 
In  the  second  lecture  he  performed  this  function  in 
a  still  more  discreditable  manner,  by  catering  to  the 
unworthy  demand  of  his  hearers  for  obvious  and  famil 
iar  humorous  conceptions  to  grasp  which  would  cause 
them  no  mental  exertion.  Thus,  in  speaking  of  the 
inventions  of  the  locomotive  and  telegraph,  already 
old  enough  for  the  first  inevitable  similitudes  and 
jocose  remarks  about  them  to  be  current,  he  said: 

"The  iron  horse  is  panting  and  impatient  to  carry 
him  (man)  everywhere  in  no  time;  and  the  lightning 
stands  ready  harnessed  to  take  and  bring  his  tidings 
in  a  trifle  less  than  no  time." 

This  reveals  Lincoln's  taste  for  the  characteristic 
American  humor  of  exaggeration,  which  was  later  to 
afford  him  relief  from  the  stress  and  strain  of  his  duties 
as  President  in  the  works  of  "Petroleum  V.  Nasby" 
and  "Artemus  Ward,"  writers,  however,  with  a  quaint 
originality  which  lifted  them  and  their  admirers  above 
the  plane  of  humorous  composition  and  appreciation 
of  the  preceding  decade.  Indeed,  Lincoln  developed 
his  own  power  of  witty  expression  to  a  degree  excel 
ling  that  of  the  writers  he  admired,  and  in  quality  of 
product,  if  not  in  quantity  (for  the  greater  part  of  the 


POETIC   SPIRIT  OF  LINCOLN  xxi 


"funny  stories"  attributed  to  him,  thank  heaven,  are 
apocryphal)  he  stands  in  the  front  rank  of  the  American 
humorists  of  his  generation. 

And  as  the  poet  and  the  wit  are  near  akin  through 
this  common  appeal  to  the  imagination,  Lincoln,  had 
he  overcome  the  obsession  of  melancholy  in  his  nature 
which  was  the  mood  in  which  he  resorted  to  poetry, 
and  which  early  limited  his  taste  for  it  to  verse  of  a  sad 
and  reflective  kind,  might  have  become  a  literary  crafts 
man  of  the  order  of  Holmes,  whose  poetry  in  the  main 
was  bright  and  joyous,  and,  even  when  he  occasionally 
touched  upon  such  subjects  as  death,  was,  as  we  have 
seen,  informed  with  inspiring  Hellenic  beauty  rather 
than  depressing  Hebraic  moralization.  It  was  in  his 
sad  moments,  says  Henry  C.  Whitney,  that  the  mind 
of  Lincoln  "gravitated  toward  the  weird,  sombre  and 
mystical.  In  his  normal  and  tranquil  state  of  mind, 
'The  Last  Leaf,'  by  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  was  his 
favorite"  (poem).  It  was  Lincoln's  happy  lot  to  rise 
in  the  realm  of  oratory  by  the  power  of  his  poetic  spirit 
higher  than  any  American,  save  probably  Emerson,  has 
done  in  other  fields  of  literature.  On  the  theme  of 
slavery,  where  his  unerring  moral  sense  had  free  sway, 
he  became  our  supreme  orator,  transcending  even 
Webster  in  grandeur  of  thought  and  beauty  of  its  ex 
pression.  His  periods  are  not  as  sonorous  as  the 
Olympian  New  England  orator's,  but  their  accents  will 
reach  as  far  and  resound  even  longer  by  the  carrying 
and  sustaining  power  of  the  ideas  which  they  express. 
Indeed,  it  is  on  the  wings  supplied  by  Lincoln  that 
Webster's  most  significant  conception,  that  of  the  na 
ture  of  the  Constitution,  is  even  now  borne  along, 
because  of  the  uplifting  ideality  which  Lincoln  gave 
it  by  more  broadly  applying  it  to  the  nation  itself  as  an 
examplar  and  preserver  to  the  world  of  ideal  government. 

Webster  said:  "It  is,  sir,  the  people's  Constitution, 
the  people's  Government;  made  for  the  people;  made 
by  the  people;  and  answerable  to  the  people." 

This  he  made  the  thesis  for  an  argument  which  was 
to  be  followed  by  a  magnificent  peroration  ending  with 
a  sentiment,  calculated  for  use  as  a  toast  at  political 
banquets,  and  as  a  patriotic  slogan:  "Liberty  and 
Union,  now  and  forever,  one  and  inseparable!" 


xxii  INTRODUCTION 


Lincoln  with  purer  taste,  the  expression  of  which,  be 
it  said  to  Webster's  credit,  had  been  made  possible  by 
the  acceptance  of  the  earlier  statesman's  contention, 
assumed  the  thesis  as  placed  beyond  all  controversy, 
and,  making  it  the  exhortation  of  his  speech,  gave  to  it 
the  character  of  a  sacred  adjuration:  "That  we  here 
highly  resolve  *  *  *  that  government  of  the  people, 
by  the  people,  and  for  the  people,  shall  not  perish  from 
the  earth." 

Another  example  of  Lincoln's  ability  to  improve  the 
composition  of  another  writer  is  the  closing  paragraph 
of  his  first  inaugural  address.  The  President-elect  had 
submitted  the  manuscript  of  this  most  important 
speech,  which  would  be  universally  scrutinized  to  find 
what  policy  he  would  adopt  toward  the  seceded  States, 
to  Seward,  his  chosen  Secretary  of  State,  for  criticism 
and  suggestion.  Mr.  Seward  approved  the  argument, 
but  advised  the  addition  of  a  closing  paragraph  "to 
meet  and  remove  prejudice  and  passion  in  the  South; 
and  despondency  in  the  East."  He  submitted  two 
paragraphs  of  his  own  as  alternative  models.  The 
second  was  in  that  poetic  vein  which  occasionally 
cropped  out  in  Seward's  speeches,  and  over  which 
Lincoln  on  better  acquaintance  was  wont  good- 
naturedly  to  rally  him.  It  is  evidence  of  Lincoln's  pre 
dilection  for  poetic  language,  at  least  at  the  close  of  a 
speech,  that  he  adopted  the  latter  paragraph.  It  ran: 

"I  close.  We  are  not,  we  must  not  be,  aliens  or  ene 
mies,  but  fellow-countrymen  and  brethren.  Although 
passion  has  strained  our  bonds  of  affection  too  hardly, 
they  must  not,  I  am  sure  they  will  not,  be  broken. 
The  mystic  chords  which,  proceeding  from  so  many 
battlefields  and  so  many  patriot  graves,  pass  through 
all  the  hearts  and  all  hearths  in  this  broad  continent 
of  ours,  will  yet  again  harmonize  in  their  ancient 
music  when  breathed  upon  by  the  guardian  angel  of 
the  nation." 

Lincoln,  by  deft  touches  which  reveal  a  literary  taste 
beyond  that  of  any  statesman  of  his  time,  indeed  beyond 
that  which  he  himself  had  yet  exhibited,  transformed 
this  passage  into  his  peroration.  His  emendations 
were  largely  in  the  way  of  excision  of  unnecessary 
phrases,  resolution  of  sentences  broken  in  construction 


POETIC   SPIRIT  OF  LINCOLN 


into  several  shorter,  more  direct  ones,  and  change  of 
general  and  vague  terms  in  rhetorical  figure  to  concrete 
and  picturesque  words.  He  wrote: 

"I  am  loth  to  close.  We  are  not  enemies,  but  friends. 
We  must  not  be  enemies.  Though  passion  may  have 
strained,  it  must  not  break  our  bonds  of  affection. 
The  mystic  chords  of  memory,  stretching  from  every 
battle-field  and  patriot  grave  to  every  living  heart  and 
hearth-stone  all  over  this  broad  land,  will  yet  swell  the 
chorus  of  the  Union  when  again  touched,  as  surely  they 
will  be,  by  the  better  angels  of  our  nature." 

More  than  the  persuasive  argument  and  gentle  yet 
determined  spirit  of  the  address,  it  was  the  chaste 
beauty  and  tender  feeling  of  these  closing  words  which 
convinced  the  people  that  Lincoln  measured  up  to  the 
high  mental  and  moral  stature  demanded  of  one  who 
was  to  be  their  leader  through  the  most  critical  period 
that  had  arisen  in  the  life  of  the  nation. 

The  second  inaugural  address,  coming  so  shortly 
before  the  President's  death,  formed  unintentionally 
his  farewell  address.  It  has  the  spirit  and  tone  of 
prophecy.  The  Bible,  in  thought  and  expression,  was 
its  inspiration.  The  first  two  of  its  three  paragraphs 
ring  like  a  chapter  from  Isaiah,  chief  of  the  poet  seers 
of  old.  The  concluding  paragraph  is  an  apostolic  bene 
diction  such  as  Paul  or  John  might  have  delivered. 

"With  malice  toward  none;  with  charity  for  all; 
with  firmness  in  the  right  as  God  gives  us  to  see  the 
right,  let  us  strive  on  to  finish  the  work  we  are  in;  to 
bind  up  the  nation's  wounds;  to  care  for  him  who  shall 
have  borne  the  battle,  and  for  his  widow  and  his  orphan 
—to  do  all  which  may  achieve  and  cherish  a  just  and 
lasting  peace  among  ourselves,  and  with  all  nations." 


*3 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


THE    LOG    CABIN 
Birthplace  of  Lincoln,  near  Hodgensville,  Kentucky 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  was  born  on  the  12th  day 

/\  of  February,  1809,  on  the  Big  South  Fork  of  Nolin 

Creek,  in  what  was  then  known  as  Hardin,  but 

is  now  known  as  La  Rue  County,  Kentucky,  about 

three  miles  from  Hodgensville. 

The  above  illustration  represents  the  cabin  in  which 
he  was  born,  as  described  by  his  former  neighbors. 

Out  of  that  old  hut  came  the  mighty  man  of  destiny, 
the  matchless  man  of  the  Nineteenth  Century.  The 
world  has  no  parallel  for  that  transition  from  the  cabin 
to  the  White  House. 


13 


14  THE   POETS'   LINCOLN 

JULIA  WARD  [HOWE]  was  born  in  New  York  City, 
May  27,  1819.  At  an  early  age  she  wrote  plays  and 
poems.  In  1843  Miss  Ward  married  Dr.  Samuel 
Gridley  Howe.  In  1861,  while  on  a  visit  to  the  camp 
near  Washington,  with  Governor  John  A.  Andrew  and 
other  friends,  Mrs.  Howe  wrote  to  the  air  of  "John 
Brown's  Body"  the  ''Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic" 
which  has  become  so  popular.  She  also  published 
several  books  of  poems.  She  espoused  the  Woman- 
Suffrage  movement  in  1869,  and  devoted  much  of  her 
time  to  the  cause.  She  died  in  1910. 

This  poem  was  written  by  Mrs.  Howe  in  her  ninetieth 
year  and  read  by  her  in  Symphony  Hall,  Boston,  on 
the  centenary  of  the  martyred  President's  birthday, 
February  12,  1909. 


LINCOLN 

THROUGH  the  dim  pageant  of  the  years 
A  wondrous  tracery  appears: 
A  cabin  of  the  western  wild 
Shelters  in  sleep  a  new  born  child. 

Nor  nurse  nor  parent  dear  can  know 
The  way  those  infant  feet  must  go, 
And  yet  a  nation's  help  and  hope 
Are  sealed  within  that  horoscope. 

Beyond  is  toil  for  daily  bread, 
And  thought  to  noble  issues  led. 
And  courage,  arming  for  the  morn 
For  whose  behest  this  man  was  born. 

A  man  of  homely,  rustic  ways, 
Yet  he  achieves  the  forum's  praise 
And  soon  earth's  highest  meed  has  won, 
The  seat  and  sway  of  Washington. 


THE  POETS'   LINCOLN  15 

No  throne  of  honors  and  delights, 
Distrustful  days  and  sleepless  nights, 
To  struggle,  suffer  and  aspire, 
Like  Israel,  led  by  cloud  and  fire. 

A  treacherous  shot,  a  sob  of  rest, 
A  martyr's  palm  upon  his  breast, 
A  welcome  from  the  glorious  seat 
Where  blameless  souls  of  heroes  meet. 

And  thrilling,  through  unmeasured  days, 
A  song  of  gratitude  and  praise, 
A  cry  that  all  the  earth  shall  heed, 
To  God,  who  gave  him  for  our  need. 


THE  GREAT  OAK 

SOME  men  are  born,  while  others  seem  to  grow 
From  out  the  soil,  like  towering  trees  that  spread 
Their  strong,  broad  limbs  in  shelter  overhead 
When  tempest  storms,  protecting  all  below. 

Lincoln,  Great  Oak  of  a  Nation's  life, 
Rose  from  the  soil,  with  all  its  virgin  power 
Emplanted  in  him  for  the  fateful  hour, 
When  he  might  brood  a  Nation  in  its  strife. 

—Bennett  Chappie. 


LINCOLN    BY    THE    CABIN   FIRE 

"Lying  down  was  Lincoln's  favorite  attitude  while  reading  or  studying.  This 
remained  a  habit  with  him  throughout  life." — Henry  C.  Whitney  in  his  "Life 
of  Lincoln." 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  17 

NOAH  DAVIS,  born  in  Haverhill,  New  Hampshire, 
September  10, 1818.  He  was  educated  at  Albion, 
New  York,  and  in  the  Seminary  at  Lima,  studied 
law,  and  was  admitted  to  the  bar  in  1841.  Appointed  in 
March,  1857,  a  justice  of  the  New  York  Supreme  Court. 
He  served  in  Congress  from  March  4,  1869,  till  July 
20,  1870,  when  he  resigned,  having  been  appointed  by 
President  Grant,  U.  S.  Attorney  for  the  Southern  Dis 
trict  of  New  York.  He  resigned  that  office  on  Dec.  31, 
1872,  being  elected  justice  of  the  New  York  State 
Supreme  Court.  In  1874,  he  became  presiding  justice. 
In  January,  1887,  he  was  retired  from  the  bench  and 
resumed  practice.  He  died  in  New  York  in  1902. 


LINCOLN 

A  MOST  a  hundred  years  ago,  in  a  lonely  hut, 
Of  the  dark  and  bloody  ground  of  wild  Ken 
tucky, 

A  child  was  born  to  poverty  and  toil, 
Save  in  the  sweet  prophecy  of  mother's  love 
None  dreamed  of  future  fame  for  him! 

'Mid  deep  privation  and  in  rugged  toil, 

He  grew  unschooled  to  vigorous  youth, 

His  teaching  was  an  ancient  spelling  book, 

The  Holy  Writ,  "The  Pilgrim's  Progress," 

Old  ".Esop's  Fables"  and  the  "Life  of  Washington"; 

And  out  of  these,  stretched  by  the  hearthstone  flame 

For  lack  of  other  light,  he  garnered  lore 

That  filled  his  soul  with  faith  in  God. 

The  prophet's  fire,  the  psalmist's  music  deep, 
The  pilgrims'  zeal  throughout  his  steadfast  march, 
The  love  of  fellow  man  as  taught  by  Christ, 
And  all  the  patriot  faith  and  truth 


18  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

Marked  the  Father  of  our  Land! 
And  there,  in  all  his  after  life,  in  thought 
And  speech  and  act,  resonant  concords  were  in  his  great 
soul. 

And,  God's  elect,  he  calmly  rose  to  awful  power, 
Restored  his  mighty  land  to  smiling  peace, 
Then,  with  the  martyr  blood  of  his  own  life, 
Baptized  the  millions  of  the  free. 

Henceforth,  the  ages  hold  his  name  high  w^rit 
And  deep  on  their  eternal  rolls. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  19 


REV.  GEORGE  W.  CROFTS  was  born  at  Leroy, 
Illinois,  April  9,  1842.     He  was  educated  at  the 
Illinois  State  University  at  Springfield,  graduating 
in  the  class  of  1864.     He  was  ordained  to  the  ministry 
in  1865.     He  preached  at  Sandwich,  Illinois;  Council 
Bluffs,  Iowa;  Beatrice,  Nebraska,  and  West  Point.    He 
died  at  West  Point,  May  16,  1909. 


THE  BIRTH  OF  LINCOLN 

NO  choir  celestial  sang  at  Lincoln's  birth, 
No  transient  star  illumined  the  midnight  sky 
In  honor  of  some  ancient  prophecy, 
No  augury  was  given  from  heaven  or  earth. 

He  blossomed  like  a  flower  of  wondrous  worth, 

A  rare,  sweet  flower  of  heaven  that  ne'er  should  die, 
Altho'  the  vase  in  which  it  grew  should  lie 

Most  rudely  rent  amid  the  darkling  dearth. 

There,  in  that  humble  cabin,  separate 
From  everything  the  world  regarded  great, 

Where  wealth  had  never  pressed  its  greedy  feet, 
WThere  honor,  pomp  or  fame  found  no  retreat; 
E'en  there  was  born  beneath  the  eye  of  God 
The  noblest  man  His  footstool  ever  trod. 


\ 


20 


THE  POETS*  LINCOLN 


Mendelssohn 


Darwin 


Lincoln 


MENDELSSOHN 
DARWIN 
LINCOLN 

February  12,  1809 


CLARENCE  E.  CARR,  born  in  Enfield,  New 
V>  Hampshire,  January  31,  1853.  Received  his 
early  education  from  the  common  schools  and 
academies  of  the  State,  later  from  Dartmouth  College, 
from  which  he  graduated  in  1875. 

Practiced  law,  was  also  a  manufacturer  and  farmer. 
Was  president  of  the  New  Hampshire  Unitarian  Con 
ference,  director  and  vice-president  of  the  American 
Unitarian  Association,  bank  trustee,  president  of  the 
United  Life  and  Accident  Insurance  Company  of 
Concord,  New  Hampshire,  and  occasionally  a  wanderer 
in  the  Elysian  Fields  of  the  Muses. 

The  Three  Birthday  Anniversaries  is  the  subject  of 
a  highly  appreciative  article  on  the  subject  of  Mendels 
sohn,  Darwin  and  Lincoln,  by  President  Samuel  A. 
Eliot  of  the  American  Unitarian  Association,  in  the 
Christian  Register  of  February  4,  1909.  The  central 
thought  therein  is  thus  expressed  very  beautifully  by 
Mr.  Carr, 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  21 


THREE  lives  this  day  unto  the  world  were  given 
Into    whose    souls    God    breathed    the    air    of 
heaven, — 

The  first  He  taught  the  music  of  the  spheres, 
The  next,  of  worlds,  the  story  of  the  years; 
And,  loving,  wise,  and  just  beyond  our  dream, 
The  third  a  pilot  made  upon  the  New  World's  stream. 

Their  work  is  done,  but  ere  they  crossed  "the  portal," 
One,  Song;    One,  Truth;    One,  Freedom;    Made  Im 
mortal! 


22  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

JAMES  PHINNEY  BAXTER,  born  at  Gorham 
Maine,  March  23,  1831.  Academic  education; 
President  of  Savings  Bank;  Mayor  of  Portland, 
six  terms,  1893-97—1904-5.  Organized  Associated 
Charities  and  was  its  first  President;  built  and  donated 
to  the  City  of  Portland  its  public  library  in  1888,  and 
to  Gorham  in  1907;  also  conveyed  to  Gorham  his  fam 
ily  mansion  for  use  as  a  Museum.  President  Portland 
Public  Library,  Baxter  Library  (Gorham),  Portland 
Benevolent  Society,  Overseer  of  Bowdoin  College, 
President  Maine  Historical  Society  since  1890,  North 
east  Historical  Society  since  1899.  Author:  The  Trelaw- 
ney  Papers,  1884;  The  British  Invasion  From  the  North, 
1887;  Sir  Ferdinando  Gorges  and  His  Province  of 
Maine,  1890;  The  Pioneers  of  New  France  in  New 
England,  1894;  edited  ten  volumes  of  Documentary 
History  of  Maine,  etc. 


THE  NATAL  DAY  OF  LINCOLN 

SON  of  the  Western  World!  whose  heritage 
Was  the  vast  prairie  and  the  boundless  sky; 
Whose  callow  thoughts  with  wings  untrammeled 
sought 

Free  scope  for  growth  denied  to  Ease  and  Power, 
Naught  couldst  thou  know  of  place  or  precedent, 
For  Freedom's  ichor  with  thy  mother's  milk 
Coursing  thy  veins,  would  render  thee  immune 
To  Fashion's  dictate,  or  prescriptive  creed, 
Leaving  thy  soul  unhindered  to  expand 
Like  Samuel's  in  Jehovah's  tutelage. 
Hail  to  thy  Natal  day! 

Like  all  great  souls  with  version  unobscured 
Thou  wert  by  Pride  unswayed,  and  so  didst  tread 
The  gray  and  sombre  way  by  Duty  marked; 
Seeking  the  springs  of  Wisdom,  unallured 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  23 

By  shallower  sources  which  the  witless  tempt. 
Afar  o'er  arid  plains  didst  thou  behold 
An  empty  sky,  and  mountains  desolate 
Barring  thy  way  to  fairer  scenes  beyond; 
But  faith  was  thine,  and  patience  measureless, 
Making  thee  equal  to  thy  destiny. 
Hail  to  thy  Natal  day! 

It  summons  to  our  vision  all  thy  life, 
Of  strenuous  toil;  the  cabin  low  and  rude; 
The  meagre  fare;    the  blazing  logs  whose  glow 
Illumed  the  pages  of  inspired  bards, 
Shakespeare  and  Bunyan;   prophets,  priests  and  seers; 
The  darkling  forest  where  thy  ringing  axe 
Chimed  with  the  music  of  the  waterfall; 
The  eager  flood  bearing  thy  rugged  raft 
Swift  footed  through  an  ever  changing  world 
Unknown  to  thee  save  in  remembered  dreams. 
Hail  to  thy  Natal  day! 

We  see  thee  in  the  mart  where  Selfishness 
For  Fame  ephemeral  strives,  and  sordid  gain; 
Thy  ill-requited  toil  till  thou  hadst  earned 
The  right  to  raise  thy  potent  voice  within 
A  nation's  forum,  facing  all  the  world; 
And  then,  achievement  such  as  few  have  known, 
A  mighty  people  placing  in  thy  hand 
A  sceptre  swaying  half  a  continent, 
Making  thee  peer  of  kings  and  potentates; 
Aye,  greater  than  them  all,  whate'er  their  power. 
Hail  to  thy  Natal  day! 

But,  lo!  the  martial  camp;  the  bivouac; 
The  rude  entrenchment; — the  grim  fortalice; 
The  tented  field;— the  flaming  battle  line, 
And  thy  great  soul  amidst  it  all  unmoved 


24  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

By  petty  aims,  leading  with  flawless  faith 
Thy  people  to  a  promised  land  of  peace; 
And,  then,  when  thou  hadst  reached  the  goal  of  hope, 
And  the  world  stood  amazed,  the  heavy  crown 
Of  martyrdom  was  pressed  upon  thy  brow 
And  thy  immortal  course  was  consummate. 
Hail  to  thy  Natal  day! 

In  all  great  souls  God  sows  with  generous  hand 
The  seed  of  martyrdom,  for  'twas  decreed 
In  Eden,  that  alone  by  sacrifice 
Should  sons  of  men  the  crown  immortal  win; 
And  thou,  who  didst  the  shiaing  heights  attain 
Of  unsurpassed  achievement,  didst  but  pay 
The  impartial  toll  of  souls  like  thine  required. 
And  we,  who  on  the  narrow  marge  of  Time 
Standing  wondering,  shed  no  tears,  but  raise  to  thee 
The  paeans  to  a  martyred  hero  due, 
Hail  to  thy  Natal  day. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


MONUMENT   TO   THE    MOTHER    OF    LINCOLN 

NANCY  HANKS  LINCOLN  died  October  5,  1818, 
aged  thirty -five  years.  The  design  of  this 
monument  is  by  Thompson  Stickle,  and  it  was 
constructed  by  J.  S.  Culver  of  Springfield,  Illinois,  and 
dedicated  October  2,  1902. 

In  the  construction  of  the  monument  in  Spencer 
County,  Indiana,  Mr.  Culver  used  as  much  of  the  gran 
ite  as  possible  from  the  National  Lincoln  Monument 
before  it  was  reconstructed. 

The  face  of  this  block  is  handsomely  hand-carved. 
As  the  Scroll  of  Time  unrolls,  it  reveals  the  name  of 
"Nancy  Hanks  Lincoln."  The  ivy  represents  affection 
and  the  branch  of  oak  nobility. 

The  public  celebration  of  the  centenary  of  Lincoln's 
birth  was  held  in  the  town  of  North  Adams,  Massa 
chusetts,  February  12,  1909. 

Ex-Senator  Thomas  F.  Cassidy,  in  his  address,  said: 
"One  hundred  years  ago  today,  in  Hardin  County, 
Kentucky,  there  was  ushered  into  being  the  child, 
Abraham  Lincoln. 

"As  God  selected  Mary,  the  humble  girl  of  Judea, 
to  be  the  mother  of  the  Saviour  of  mankind  and  she 
gave  birth  to  Him  in  the  stable  at  Bethlehem,  so  it 

*4 


26  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


was  ordained  that  in  the  lowly  log  cabin  of  the  Ken 
tucky  wilderness,  Nancy  Hanks  should  receive  into  the 
protection  of  her  sheltering  arms  the  child  who  was 
destined  to  be  the  Saviour  of  the  Republic." 


HARRIET  MONROE,  born  at  Chicago,  Illinois, 
December,  23, 1860.  Graduated  Visitation  Acad 
emy,  Georgetown,  District  Columbia,  1879.  In 
December,  1889,  was  appointed  to  write  text  for  can 
tata  for  opening  of  Chicago  Auditorium  in  March, 
1891.  Was  requested  by  Committee  on  Ceremonies 
of  Chicago  Exposition  to  write  a  poem  for  the  dedica 
tion;  her  Columbia  Ode  was  read  and  sung  at  the 
dedicatory  ceremonies  on  the  400th  anniversary  of  the 
discovery  of  America,  October  21,  1892.  Author  of 
Valerie,  and  other  poems,  1892;  The  Columbia  Ode, 
1893;  John  Wellborn,  Poet,  A  Memoir,  1896;  The 
Passing  Show — Modern  Plays  in  Verse,  1903,  etc. 


NANCY  HANKS 

PRAIRIE  Child, 
Brief  as  dew, 
What  winds  of  wonder 
Nourished  you? 

Rolling  plain 

Of  billowy  green, 
Fair  horizons, 

Blue,  serene. 

Lofty  skies 

The  slow  clouds  climb, 
Where  burning  stars 

Beat  out  the  time. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  27 


These,  and  the  dreams 

Of  fathers  bold, 
Baffled  longings 

Hopes  untold. 

Gave  to  you 

A  heart  of  fire, 
Love  like  waters, 

Brave  desire. 

Ah,  when  youth's  rapture 

Went  out  in  pain, 
And  all  seemed  over, 

Was  all  in  vain? 

O  soul  obscure, 

Whose  wings  life  bound, 
And  soft  death  folded 

Under  the  ground. 

Wilding  lady, 

Still  and  true, 
W7ho  gave  us  Lincoln 

And  never  knew: 

To  you  at  last 

Our  praise,  our  tears, 
Love  and  a  song 

Through  the  nation's  years. 

Mother  of  Lincoln, 
Our  tears,  our  praise; 

A  battle-flag 

And  the  victor's  bays! 


THE   RAIL  SPLITTER 
From  the  "Footprints  of  Abraham  Lincoln" 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  29 

LINCOLN  THE  LABORER 

From  an  Horalian  Ode  by  Richard  Henry  Stoddard 

A  LABORING  man  with  horny  hands, 
Who  swung  the  axe,  who  tilled  the  lands, 
Who  shrank  from  nothing  new, 
But  did  as  poor  men  do. 

One  of  the  people.    Born  to  be 
Their  curious  epitome, 
To  share,  yet  rise  above, 
Their  shifting  hate  and  love. 

Common  his  mind,  it  seemed  so  then, 
His  thoughts  the  thoughts  of  other  men, 
Plain  were  his  words,  and  poor — 
But  now  they  will  endure. 

No  hasty  fool  of  stubborn  will, 
But  prudent,  cautious,  still— 
Who,  since  his  work  was  good, 
Would  do  it  as  he  could. 

No  hero,  this,  of  Roman  mold — 
Nor  like  our  stately  sires  of  old. 
Perhaps  he  was  not  great — 
But  he  preserved  the  state. 

O,  honest  face,  which  all  men  knew, 
O,  tender  heart,  but  known  to  few — 
O,  wonder  of  the  age, 
Cut  off  by  tragic  rage. 


"THE   BOY   LINCOLN 
By  Eastman  Johnson 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  31 


JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY  was  born   in  Green 
field,   Indiana,   about   1852.     He  was  engaged  in 
various   pursuits   until   1875,    when    he    began  to 
contribute  verses  of  poetry  to  local  papers  in  the  West 
ern  district   which    gained  wide   popularity   for    him. 
His  published  works  in  dialect  and  his  serious  poems 
have  also  proved  very  popular. 


A  PEACEFUL  LIFE 
(LINCOLN) 

A  PEACEFUL  life;— just  toil  and  rest- 
All  his  desire; — 
To  read  the  books  he  liked  the  best 
Beside  the  cabin  fire. 
God's  word  and  man's; — to  peer  sometimes 

Above  the  page,  in  smoldering  gleams, 
And  catch,  like  far  heroic  rhymes, 
The  onmarch  of  his  dreams. 

A  peaceful  life; — to  hear  the  low 

Of  pastured  herds, 
Or  woodman's  axe  that,  blow  on  blow, 

Fell  sweet  as  rhythmic  words. 
And  yet  there  stirred  within  his  breast 

A  faithful  pulse,  that,  like  a  roll 
Of  drums,  made  high  above  his  rest 

A  tumult  in  his  soul. 

A  peaceful  life!  -  -  They  hailed  him  even 

As  One  was  hailed 
Whose  open  palms  were  nailed  toward  Heaven 

When  prayers  nor  aught  availed. 
And  lo,  he  paid  the  selfsame  price 

To  lull  a  nation's  awful  strife 
And  will  us,  through  the  sacrifice 

Of  self,  his  peaceful  life. 


32  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


WILLIAM    WILBERFORCE    NEWTON,    born 
in  Alleghany,  Pennsylvania,  March,  1836.    Was 
graduated  at  Franklin  and  Marshall  College  in 
1853.    Studied  law,  and  was  admitted  to  the  bar  in 
1867.    He  served  as  Captain  and  Assistant  Adjutant 
General  of  U.  S.  Volunteers  in  1861-5;  was  Editor  of 
the  Philadelphia  Press  and  President  of  the  "Press" 
Publishing  Co.,  from   1867  till  1878.    He  is  the  author 
of  Vignettes  of  Travel  and  has  been  largely  engaged  in 
railway  building  in  Mexico. 


LEADER  OF  HIS  PEOPLE 

SAW  you  in  his  boyhood  days 
O'er  Kentucky's  prairies; 
Bending  to  the  settler's  w^ays 
Yon  poor  youth  whom  now  we  praise 

Romance  like  the  fairies? 
Hero!     Hero!     Sent  from  God! 
Leader  of  his  people. 

Saw  you  in  the  days  of  youth 

By  the  candle's  flaring: 
Lincoln  searching  for  the  truth, 
Splitting  rails  to  gain,  forsooth, 

Knowledge  for  the  daring? 
Hero!     Hero!     Sent  from  God! 

Leader  of  his  people. 

Saw  you  in  his  manhood's  prime 

Like  a  star  resplendent, 
Him  we  praise  with  measured  rhyme 
Waiting  for  the  coming  time 

With  a  faith  transcendent? 
Hero!     Hero!     Sent  from  God! 

Leader  of  his  people. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  33 

Saw  you  in  the  hour  of  strife 

When  fierce  war  was  raging, 
Him  who  gave  the  slaves  a  life 
Full  and  rich  with  freedom  rife, 

All  his  powers  engaging? 
Hero!     Hero!     Sent  from  God! 

Leader  of  his  people. 

Saw  you  when  the  war  was  done 

(Such  is  Lincoln's  story) 
Him  whose  strength  the  strife  had  won 
Sinking  like  the  setting  sun 

Crowned  with  human  glory? 
Hero!     Hero!     Sent  from  God! 

Leader  of  his  people. 

Saw  you  in  our  country's  roll 

Midst  her  saints  and  sages, 
Lincoln's  name  upon  the  scroll — 
Standing  at  the  topmost  goal 

On  the  nation's  pages? 
Hero!     Hero!     Sent  from  God! 

Leader  of  his  people. 

Hero!     Yes!     We  know  thy  fame; 

It  will  live  forever! 
Thou  to  us  art  still  the  same; 
Great  the  glory  of  thy  name, 

Great  thy  strong  endeavor! 
Hero!    Hero!    Sent  from  God! 

Leader  of  his  people. 


LINCOLN  THE  LAWYER 

From  an  Ambrotype,  taken  in  1856 


THE  charm  which  invested  the  life  on  the  Eighth 
Circuit  in  the  mind  and  fancy  of  Mr.  Lincoln  yet 
lingered  there,  even  in  the  most  responsible  and 
glorious  days  of  his  administration ;  over  and  over  again 
has  the  great  President  stolen  an  hour  .  .  .  from  his 
life  of  anxious  care  to  live  over  again  those  bygone 
exhilarating  and  halcyon  days  .  .  .  with  Sweet  or  me." 
—Henry  C.  Whitney  in  his  Life  of  Lincoln. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  35 


WILBUR  HAZELTON  SMITH  was  born  in  the 
town  of  Mansfield,  New  York,  March  28,  1860. 
His   early   education   was   obtained   from   the 
district   school  and   he  began  teaching  at  the  age  of 
sixteen.    After  completing  an  academic  course  he  went 
to  Cornell  University  from  which  he  was  graduated 
with  the  degree  of  A.  B.  in  1885. 

He  at  once  became  a  teacher  and  after  a  few  years 
started  the  first  Current  Topic  paper  in  the  state,  The 
Educator.  Later  he  edited  a  teachers'  paper,  The 
World's  Review.  Perhaps  he  is  best  known  as  publisher 
of  the  Regents'  Review  Books  used  in  nearly  every  school 
in  the  United  States.  His  death  occurred  October  19, 
1913. 


LINCOLN 

UNLEARNED  in  the  cant  and  quip  of  schools, 
Uncouth,  if  only  city  ways  refine; 
Ungodly,  if  'tis  creeds  that  make  divine; 
In  station  poor,  as  judged  by  human  rules, 
And  yet  a  giant  towering  o'er  them  all; 
Clean,  strong  in  mind,  just,  merciful,  sublime; 
The  noblest  product  of  the  age  and  time, 
Invoked  of  God  in  answer  to  men's  call. 

O  simple  world,  and  will  you  ever  learn, 

Schools  can  but  guide,  they  cannot  mind  create? 

'Neath  roughest  rock  the  choicest  treasures  wait; 
In  meanest  forms  we  priceless  gems  discern; 

Nor  time,  nor  age,  condition,  rank  nor  birth, 

Can  hide  the  trulv  noble  of  the  earth. 


LINCOLN'S   OFFICE   CHAIR 


THIS  CHAIR  was  used  by  Mr.  Lincoln  in  his  law 
office  at  Springfield,  Illinois,  where,  before  leaving 
for  the  City  of  Washington  after  his  election  as 
President,  he  wrote  his  Inaugural  Address  and  formed 
his  Cabinet. 

It  was  presented  to  O.  H.  Oldroyd  while  living  in 
the  Lincoln  Homestead,  Springfield,  by  Mr.  Herndon, 
March  18,  1886. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  37 


JAMES  RILEY  was  born  in  the  hamlet  of  Tang,  one 
mile  from  the  town  of  Ballymahon,  County  Long 
ford,  Ireland,  and  two  miles  from  Lissoy,  County 
Westmeath,  the  home  of  Oliver  Goldsmith — on  the  road 
between  the  two — August  15,  1848.  Published  Poems, 
1888;  Songs  of  Two  Peoples,  1898,  and  Christy  of 
Rathglin,  a  novel,  in  1907.  His  poem  The  American 
Flag,  has  been  rated  often  as  the  best  poem  written 
to  our  banner.  Four  lines  on  the  loss  of  the  Titanic 
brought  from  Captain  Rostron  words  in  which  he  said: 
"With  such  praise  one  feels  on  a  higher  plane,  and 
must  keep  so,  to  be  worthy  of  continuance." 


LINCOLN  IN  HIS  OFFICE  CHAIR 


H 


IGH-BROWED,  rugged,  and  swarthy; 
A  picture  of  pain  and  care; 
A  lawyer  sat  with  his  greatest  brief, 
High  in  his  office  chair. 


His  Country  was  to  him  client! 

Futurity  his  ward! 
And  he  must  plead  'fore  Fate's  high  court, 

With  prayer,  and  pen,  and  sword. 

Elected,  by  bis  people! 

His  heart  and  theirs,  one  beat! 
He  sees  the  storm-clouds  gather; 

The  waves  dash  at  his  feet! 

Gloom  upon  land  and  water! 

The  Flag  no  more  in  the  sun! 
Lights  from  the  South -line  flickering, 

And — dying — one — by  one! 


38  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


November's  winds  wild  shrieking! 

Night — closed,  on  a  Union  rent! 
And  still  the  lawyer  sat  dreaming 

Of  its  once  bright  firmament. 

Then,  '61!     Dark!     Silent! 

Only  the  calling  word 
Of  Anderson  at  Sumter 

The  lawyer,  writing,  heard. 

Writing  the  Message  that  ever 
Shall  live  in  the  hearts  of  men; 

With  cannon  to  cannon  fronting, 
The  lawyer  held  the  pen. 

Only  thinking  of  Country 

And  the  work  that  must  be  done; 
Nature  made  in  roughest  mold 

Her  favored,  fated  son. 

He  wrote  while  the  world  was  waiting 

Great  Freedom's  final  test. 
Should,  or  should  not  Democracy 

Be  planted  in  the  West? 

Should  Liberty  at  last  survive 
And  man  look  straight  on  man? 

Law,  in  its  round,  its  strength  and  might 
Be  timed  unto  sense  and  plan? 

He,  in  his  chair  there  sitting, 
Had  all  these  things  for  thought. 

Now,  the  Vote  unrecognized, 
Must  battles  wild  be  fought? 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  39 


Alone  the  Chair  is  standing, 

To  remind  the  Land  of  the  time 

When  the  Slaver's  heart,  all  passion, 
He  planned,  and  pursued  his  crime! 

As  he  rushed  Disunion's  order, 

On,  on  from  State  to  State! 
And  the  Pen  talked  loud  down  the  Message, 

And  bided  the  Land  to  wait. 


LINCOLN   AS   CANDIDATE   FOR   UNITED    STATES   SENATOR 
Photograph  from  an  Ambrotype,  by  Gilmer,  Illinois,  1858 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  41 


CLIZABETH  PORTER  GOULD,  born  June  8, 
H/  1848,  died  July  28,  1906.  Essayist,  lecturer  and 
author;  an  early  inspirer  of  woman's  clubs  and 
the  pioneer  of  the  Current  Events  and  Topics  classes 
in  Boston  and  vicinity;  an  officer  in  several  educational 
societies  and  honorary  member  of  the  Webster  His 
torical  Society,  Castilian  Club  and  other  clubs  where 
she  had  read  many  historical  papers  of  great  research 
and  given  many  practical  suggestions.  Among  her 
published  works  are  Gems  From  Walt  Whitman,  Anne 
Gilchrist  and  Walt  Whitman,  Ezekial  Cheever,  School 
master,  John  Adams  and  Daniel  Webster  as  School 
masters,  A  Pioneer  Doctor,  One's  Self  I  Sing  and  The 
Brownings  and  America.  She  had  great  energy  and 
force  of  character,  and  a  capacity  for  friendship  which 
was  a  source  of  great  happiness  to  her  and  endeared 
her  to  all. 


THE  VOICE  OF  LINCOLN 

IN  life's  great  symphony, 
Above  the  seeming  discord  and  the  pain, 
A  master-voice  is  ever  singing,  singing, 
The  plan  of  God  to  men. 

In  young  America's  song, 

As  threatening  tumult  pierced  the  tensioned  air, 
The  voice  of  Lincoln  over  all  was  singing 
The  love  of  brother-man. 

And  still  his  voice  is  heard; 
'Twill  pierce  the  din  of  strife  and  mystery, 
Till  master-voices  cease  their  singing,  singing, 
In  life's  great  symphony. 


LINCOLN    AT    THE    TIME    OF    DEBATE 

WITH   DOUGLAS 
From  an  Ambrotype  taken  atBeardstown,  111.,  1858 


HIS  friends  advised  Lincoln  to  press  his  opponent 
on  the  Dred  Scott  decision  (of  the  United  States 
Supreme  Court  permitting  slavery  in  the  Terri 
tories),   as   Douglas   would   accept   it,   but   argue   for 
nullifying  it  by  anti-slavery   legislation   in  the  terri 
torial  assemblies,  and   this   would   satisfy   the   people 
of  Illinois,  and  elect  him  Senator.     "All  right,"  said 
Lincoln,  "then  that  kills  him  in  1860.    I  am  gunning 
for  larger  game." 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  43 


TLIZABETH  STUART  PHELPS  was  born  in 
Andover,  Massachusetts,  on  August  13,  1844. 
Educated  at  Andover.  Her  literary  career  began 
at  the  age  of  thirteen  with  contributions  to  the  news 
papers.  The  earlier  years  of  her  life  were  devoted  to 
Christian  labors  among  the  poor  families  in  Andover, 
but  failing  health  finally  prevented  her  from  carrying 
on  her  labors  along  that  line,  and  kept  her  within  her 
study,  but  her  sympathy  was  always  enlisted  in  the 
reformatory  questions  of  the  day.  The  Gates  Ajar 
proved  very  popular,  as  did  also  her  many  juvenile 
books.  She  wrote  this  poem  for  the  Lincoln  Memorial 
Album  in  1882.  She  died  January  29,  1911. 


THE  THOUGHTS  OF  LINCOLN 

THE  angels  of  your  thoughts  are  climbing  still 
The  shining  ladder  of  his  fame, 
And  have  not  reached  the  top,  nor  ever  will, 
While  this  low  life  pronounces  his  high  name. 

But  yonder,  where  they  dream,  or  dare,  or  do, 
The  "good"  or  "great"  beyond  our  reach, 

To  talk  of  him  must  make  old  language  new 
In  heavenly,  as  it  did  in  human,  speech. 


THE   LINCOLN   LIFE-MASK 
By  Leonard  W.  Volk 

MR.  LINCOLN  was  engaged  in  trying  a  case  in  the 
United  States  Court  at  Chicago,  Illinois,  in  April, 
I860,  and  Leonard  W.  Volk,  the  sculptor,  called 
upon  him  and  said:     "I  would  like  to  have  you  sit  to 
me  for  your  bust."    "I  will,  Mr.  Volk,"  replied  Lincoln. 
This  was  the  first  time  that  Lincoln  sat  to  an  artist  for 
the    reproduction    of    his    physique    in    this    manner. 
Previous  to  this  he  had  posed  only  for  daguerreotypes 
or  for  photographs. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  45 


RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER  was  born  in  Bor- 
dentown,  New  Jersey,  February  8,  1844,  and  was 
educated  at  his  father's  school.  He  enlisted  in 
Landis'  Philadelphia  Battery  for  the  emergency  call 
in  the  campaign  of  1863,  when  the  Confederate  forces 
invaded  Pennsylvania.  Later  he  was  editor  of  a  num 
ber  of  magazines  and  upon  the  death  of  J.  G.  Holland 
he  was  made  associate  editor  of  the  Century.  At  the 
age  of  twenty-six  he  had  attained  high  literary  standing. 
His  poems  are  published  in  five  volumes.  He  rendered 
valuable  service  in  tenement-house  reform  over  the 
country.  He  died  on  the  18th  day  of  November,  1909. 


ON  THE  LIFE- MASK  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

THIS  bronze  doth  keep  the  very  form  and  mold 
Of  our  great  martyr's  face.     Yes,  this  is  he: 
That  brow  all  wisdom,  all  benignity; 
That  human,  humorous  mouth;  those  cheeks  that  hold 
Like  some  harsh  landscape  all  the  summer's  gold; 
That  spirit  fit  for  sorrow,  as  the  sea 
For  storms  to  beat  on;    the  lone  agony 
Those  silent,  patient  lips  too  well  foretold. 
Yes,  this  is  he  who  ruled  a  world  of  men 

As  might  some  prophet  of  the  elder  day- 
Brooding  above  the  tempest  and  the  fray 

deep-eyed  thought  and  more  than  mortal  ken. 
A  power  was  his  beyond  the  touch  of  art 
Or  armed  strength — liis  pure  and  mighty  heart. 


THE    HAND    OF    LINCOLN 

THE  Saturday  after  the  nomination  of  Mr.  Lincoln 
for  President  of  the  United  States,  the  Committee 
appointed  to  inform  him  of  the  said  nomination 
arrived  in  Springfield  and  performed  this  duty  in   the 
evening  at  his  home. 

The  cast  of  his  hand  was  made  the  next  morning  by 
Mr.  Leonard  W.  Volk.  While  the  sculptor  was  making 
the  cast  of  his  left  hand,  Lincoln  called  his  attention  to 
a  scar  on  his  thumb.  "You  have  heard  me  called  the 
'rail -splitter'  haven't  you?"  he  said,  "Well,  I  used  to 
split  rails  when  I  was  a  young  man,  and  one  day,  while 
sharpening  a  wedge  on  a  log,  the  axe  glanced  and  nearly 
took  off  my  thumb." 


46 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  47 


EDMUND  CLARENCE  STEDMAN  was  born  in 
Hartford,  Connecticut,  on  the  8th  of  October, 
1833.  He  entered  Yale  College  at  the  age  of  six 
teen  and  distinguished  himself  in  Greek  and  English 
Composition.  He  was  the  editor  of  several  papers  in 
Connecticut  and  in  1856  removed  to  New  York  City — a 
larger  field  for  his  literary  abilities.  He  was  a  con 
tributor  to  Vanity  Fair,  Putnam's  Monthly,  Harper's 
Magazine  and  other  periodicals.  His  poems:  The 
Diamond  Wedding,  How  Old  John  Brown  Took  Harper's 
Ferry,  The  Ballad  of  Lager- Bier,  gave  him  some  reputa 
tion.  He  was  war-correspondent  for  the  World  during 
the  early  campaigns  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  from 
the  Headquarters  of  General  Trwin  McDowell  and 
General  B.  McClellan.  He  died  in  1908. 


THE  HAND  OF  LINCOLN 

E3K  on  this  cast,  and  know  the  hand 
That  bore  a  nation  in  its  hold; 
From  this  mute  witness  understand 
What  Lincoln  was — how  large  of  mold. 

The  man  who  sped  the  woodman's  team, 
And  deepest  sunk  the  plowman's  share, 

And  pushed  the  laden  raft  astream, 
Of  fate  before  him  unaware. 

This  was  the  hand  that  knew  to  swing 
The  axe — since  thus  would  Freedom  train 

Her  son — and  made  the  forest  ring, 

And  drove  the  wedge  and  toiled  amain. 

Firm  hand  that  loftier  office  took, 

A  conscious  leader's  will  obeyed, 
And,  when  men  sought  his  word  and  look, 

With  steadfast  might  the  gathering  swayed. 


48  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

No  courtier's,  toying  with  a  sword, 
Nor  minstrel's,  laid  across  a  lute; 

Chiefs,  uplifted  to  the  Lord 

When  all  the  kings  of  earth  are  mute! 

The  hand  of  Anak,  sinewed  strong, 
The  fingers  that  on  greatness  clutch, 

Yet  lo!  the  marks  their  lines  along 
Of  one  who  strove  and  suffered  much. 

For  here  in  mottled  cord  and  vein 
I  trace  the  varying  chart  of  years, 

I  know  the  troubled  heart,  the  strain, 
The  weight  of  Atlas — and  the  tears. 

Again  I  see  the  patient  brow 

That  palm  erewhile  was  wont  to  press; 

And  now  'tis  furrowed  deep,  and  now 

Made  smooth  with  hope  and  tenderness. 

For  something  of  a  formless  grace 
This  molded  outline  plays  about; 

A  pitying  flame,  beyond  our  trace, 
Breathes  like  a  spirit,  in  and  out— 

The  love  that  casts  an  aureole 
Round  one  who,  longer  to  endure, 

Called  mirth  to  cease  his  ceaseless  dole, 
Yet  kept  his  nobler  purpose  sure. 

Lo,  as  I  gaze,  the  statured  man, 

Built  up  from  yon  large  hand,  appears; 

A  type  that  nature  wills  to  plan 
But  once  in  all  a  people's  years. 

What  better  than  this  voiceless  cast 

To  tell  of  such  a  one  as  he, 
Since  through  its  living  semblance  passed 

The  thought  that  bade  a  race  be  free? 


,  -" 


HON.  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN,  REPUBLICAN  CANDIDATE  FOR  THE 

PRESIDENCY,  1860 

Painted  by  Hicks;  lithograph  by  L.  Grozelier;  published  by  W.Schaus,  New  York, 
1860;  printed  by  J.  H.  Bufford,  Boston 


THE   "WIGWAM" 

Convention  Hall,  at  Chicago,  1860,  in  which  Lincoln  was  nominated 

THE  Republicans  of  Chicago  had  erected  a  huge 
temporary  building  for  the  use  of  the  Convention. 
The  "Wigwam,"  as  it  was  called,  covered  a  space 
of  600  feet  by  180,  and  the  height  was  between  50  and 
60  feet.  The  building  would  hold  about  10,000  per 
sons,  and  was  divided  into  platform,  ground-floor  and 
gallery.  The  stage  upon  which  the  delegates  and  mem 
bers  of  the  press  were  seated,  held  about  1,800  per 
sons;  the  ground-floor  and  galleries,  about  8,000.  A 
large  gallery  was  reserved  for  ladies,  which  was  filled 
every  day  to  overflowing.  The  Convention  met  on 
June  16,  1860. 


50 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  51 


EDMUND  CLARENCE  STEDMAN  is  the  author 
of  this  poem,  and  it  was  published  in  the  Press 
and  Tribune  of  Chicago,  and  in  Weekly  Illinois  State 
Journal,  June  13,  1860.    It  was  sung  to  the  air  of  the 
"Star  Spangled  Banner"  throughout  the  campaign. 


HONEST  ABE  OF  THE  WEST 

OH  ARK!  from  the  pine-crested  hills  of  old  Maine, 
Where  the  splendor  first  falls  from  the  wings 
of  the  morning, 
And  away  in  the  West,  over  river  and  plain, 

Rings  out  the  grand  anthem  of  Liberty's  warning! 
From  green-rolling  prairie  it  swells  to  the  sea, 
For  the  people  have  risen,  victorious  and  free, 
They  have  chosen  their  leaders,  and  bravest  and  best 
Of  them  all  is  Old  Abe,  Honest  Abe  of  the  West! 

The  spirit  that  fought  for  the  patriots  of  old 

Has  swept  through  the  land  and  aroused  us  forever; 

In  the  pure  air  of  heaven  a  standard  unfold 
Fit  to  marshal  us  on  to  the  sacred  endeavor! 

Proudly  the  banner  of  freemen  we  bear; 

Noble  the  hopes  that  encircle  it  there! 

And  where  battle  is  thickest  we  follow  the  crest 

Of  gallant  Old  Abe,  Honest  Abe  of  the  West! 

There's  a  triumph  in  urging  a  glorious  cause, 

Though  the  hosts  of  the  foe  for  a  while  may  be 

stronger, 
Pushing  on  for  just  rules  and  holier  laws, 

Till  their  lessening  columns  oppose  us  no  longer. 
But  ours  the  loud  paean  of  men  who  have  passed 
Through  the  struggles  of  years,  and  are  victors  at  last; 
So  forward  the  flag!     Leave  to  Heaven  the  rest, 
And  trust  in  Old  Abe,  Honest  Abe  of  the  West! 


LINCOLN  AS   CANDIDATE    FOR   PRESIDENT 
From  an  Ambrotype  taken  at  Springfield,  Illinois,  August  13,  1860 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  53 

WILLIAM  HENRY  BURLEIGH,  born  at  Wood 
stock,  Connecticut,  February  2,  1812.  In  early 
manhood  became  an  advocate  of  reforms  then 
unpopular,  and  an  acceptable  lecturer  on  behalf  of 
temperance  and  the  anti-slavery  cause.  He  removed 
to  Pittsburgh  in  1837,  where  he  published  the  Christian 
Witness,  and  afterwards  the  Temperance  Banner.  As 
a  writer,  speaker,  editor,  poet,  reformer,  friend  and 
associate,  it  was  the  universal  testimony  of  those  who 
knew  him  best  and  esteemed  him  most  truly,  that  he 
stood  in  the  forefront  of  his  generation.  His  poetry, 
animated  by  deep  love  of  nature  and  a  profound  desire 
to  uphold  truth  and  justice,  gives  him  a  place  with  our 
first  minor  poets. 


PRESIDENTIAL  CAMPAIGN,  1860 

UP  again  for  the  conflict!     Our  banner  fling  out, 
And  rally  around  it  with  song  and  with  shout! 
Stout  of  heart,  firm  of  hand,  should  the  gal 
lant  boys  be, 

Who  bear  to  the  battle  the  Flag  of  the  Free! 
Like  our  fathers,  when  Liberty  called  to  the  strife, 
They  should  pledge  to  her  cause  fortune,  honor,  and 

life! 

And  follow  wherever  she  beckons  them  on, 
Till  Freedom  results  in  a  victory  won! 

They  came  from  the  hillside,  they  came  from  the  glen— 
From  the  streets  thronged  with   traffic    and    surging 

with  men, 

From  loom  and  from  ledger,  from  workshop  and  farm, 
The  fearless  of  heart,  and  the  mighty  of  arm. 
As  the  mountain-born  torrents  exultingly  leap 
When  their  ice-fetters  melt,  to  the  breast  of  the  deep; 
As  the  winds  of  the  prairie,  the  waves  of  the  sea, 
They  are  coming — are  coming — the  Sons  of  the  Free! 


54  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

Our  Leader  is  one  who,  with  conquerless  will, 
Has  climbed  from  the  base  to  the  brow  of  the  hill; 
Undaunted  in  peril,  unwavering  in  strife, 
He  has  fought  a  good  fight  in  the  Battle  ot  Life, 
And  we  trust  as  one  who — come  woe  or  come  weal, 
Is  as  firm  as  the  rock  and  as  true  as  the  steel. 
Right  loyal  and  brave,  with  no  stain  on  his  breast, 
Then,  hurrah,  boys,  for  honest  "Old  Abe  of  the  West!" 


i J  fo  i*  *»nc»s  Ills  irn!«*ro  nee 
A  u  h  o •>  e  « !!»»«*»  i «  f o «  o  d !    I  ^  «• 


"HONEST   ABE" 
A  Campaign  Cartoon  of  I860 


56  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

MADISON  CAWEIN  was  born  at  Louisville,  Ken 
tucky,  on  the  23rd  of  March,  1865.     Was  edu 
cated   in  the  city   and   country    schools   about 
Louisville  and  New  Albany,  Indiana.    Graduated  from 
the  Male  High  School,  Louisville,  in  1886,  and  the  fol 
lowing  year  published  his  first  volume,  called  Blooms 
of  the  Berry.    Since  then  he  published  some  thirty-odd 
volumes  of  prose  and  poetry,  both  in  the  United  States 
and  England.    He  died  in  1915. 


LINCOLN,  1809— FEBRUARY  12,  1909 

Read  for  the  first  time  at  the  Lincoln  centenary  celebration, 
Temple  Adath  Israel,  Louisville,  Ky. 

YEA,  this  is  he,  whose  name  is  synonym 
Of  all  that's  noble,  though  but  lowly  born; 
Who  took  command  upon  a  stormy  morn 
Wlien  few  had  hope.     Although  uncouth  of  limb, 
Homely  of  face  and  gaunt,  but  never  grim, 
Beautiful  he  was  with  that  which  none  may  scorn — 
With  love  of  God  and  man  and  things  forlorn, 
And  freedom  mighty  as  the  soul  in  him. 
Large  at  the  helm  of  state  he  leans  and  looms 
With  the  grave,  kindly  look  of  those  wTho  die 
Doing  their  duty.     Stanch,  unswervingly 
Onward  he  steers  beneath  portentous  glooms, 
And  overwhelming  thunders  of  the  sky, 
Till,  safe  in  port,  he  sees  a  people  free. 

Safe  from  the  storm;    the  harbor-lights  of  Peace 

Before  his  eyes;    the  burden  of  dark  fears 

Cast  from  him  like  a  cloak;    and  in  his  ears 

The  heart-beat  music  of  a  great  release; 

Captain  and  pilot,  back  upon  the  seas, 

Whose  wrath  he'd  weathered,  back  he  looks  with  tears, 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  57 


Seeing  no  shadow  of  the  Death  that  nears, 

Stealthy  and  sure,  with  sudden  agonies. 

So  let  him  stand,  brother  to  every  man, 

Ready  for  toil  or  battle;    he  who  held 

A  Nation's  destinies  within  his  hand; 

Type  of  our  greatness;    first  American, 

By  whom  the  hearts  of  all  men  are  compelled, 

And  with  whose  name  Freedom  unites  our  land. 

He  needs  no  praise  of  us,  who  wrought  so  well, 
Who  has  the  Master's  praise;    wTho  at  his  post 
Stood  to  the  last.     Yet,  now,  from  coast  to  coast, 
Let  memory  of  him  peal  like  some  great  bell, 
Of  him  as  woodsman,  workman,  let  it  tell! 
Of  him  as  lawyer,  statesman,  without  boast! 
And  for  what  qualities  we  love  him  most, 
And  recollections  that  no  time  can  quell. 
He  needs  no  praise  of  us,  yet  let  us  praise, 
Albeit  his  simple  soul  we  may  offend, 
That  liked  not  praise,  being  most  diffident; 
Still  let  us  praise  him,  praise  him  in  such  ways 
As  his  were,  and  in  words  that  shall  transcend 
Marble,  and  outlast  any  monument. 


*6 


LINCOLN   AS   CANDIDATE   FOR   PRESIDENT 
Photograph  by  Hesler.  Chicago,  Illinois,  1860 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  59 


ISAAC  BASSETT  CHOATE,  bom  at  South  Otis 
Field,  Maine,  July  12,  1833.   Bachelor  of  Arts,  Bow- 
doin  College,  1862.   Author  of  Wild  Birds  and  Flow 
ers,   1895;   Wells  of  English,    1892;   Obeyed  the  Camel 
Driver,  1899;  Apollo's  Guest,  1907. 

By  special  invitation  from  the  faculty  of  the  Alumni 
Association  of  said  College  he  read  the  following  poem 
at  their  annual  banquet  held  on  the  centenary  of 
Lincoln's  birth,  1909: 


THE  MATCHLESS  LINCOLN 

FROM  out  the  ranks  of  common  men  he  rose — 
Himself  of  common  elements,  yet  fine — 
As  in  a  wood  of  different  species  grows 
Above  all  other  trees  the  lordly  pine, 
Upon  whose  branches  rest  the  winter  snows, 

Upon  whose  head  warm  beams  of  summer  shine; 
His  was  the  heart  to  feel  the  people's  woes 
And  his  the  hand  to  hold  the  builder's  line; 
Strong,  patient,  wise  and  great, 
Born  ruler  of  the  State. 

Among  a  mountain  group  one  sovereign  peak 

Will  tower  aloft  unto  commanding  height 
As  if  more  distant  view  abroad  to  seek — 

First  one  to  hail,  last  one  to  speed  the  light; 
Those  granite  sides  will  snows  of  winter  streak 

E'en  in  the  summer  with  their  purest  white; — 
Silent,  serene,  that  summit  yet  will  speak 

Of  loftiest  grandeur  to  the  enraptured  sight; 
So  Lincoln's  greatness  shone 
Supreme,  unmatched,  alone. 


LINCOLN   AS   CANDIDATE  FOR   PRESIDENT 
Photograph,  Springfield,  111.,  1860 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  61 

CHARLOTTE  BECKER  was  born  and  has  always 
V_>«  lived  in  Buffalo,  New  York.  She  was  educated 
in  private  schools  and  in  Europe,  and  has  written 
poems  for  Harper's  Magazine,  The  Metropolitan,  The 
American,  Life,  etc.,  besides  a  number  of  songs  which 
have  been  set  to  music  by  Amy  Woodfords-Finden, 
C.  B.  Hawley,  Whitney  Coombs  and  others. 

LINCOLN 

GAUNT,   rough-hewn   face,   that  bore   the  fur 
rowed  signs 
Of  days  of  conflict,  nights  of  agony, 
And  still  could  soften  to  the  gentler  lines 

Of  one  whose  tenderness  and  truth  went  free 
Beyond  the  pale  of  any  small  confines 
To  understand  and  help  humanity. 

Wise,  steadfast  mind,  that  grasped  a  people's  need, 
Counting  nor  pain  nor  sacrifice  too  great 

To  keep  the  noble  purpose  of  his  creed 
Strong  against  all  buffeting  of  Fate, 

Though  no  least  solace  sprang  of  work  or  deed 
For  him,  since  triumph  came  at  last — too  late. 

Brave,  weary  heart,  that  beat  uncomforted 
Beneath  its  heavy  load  of  grief  and  care; 

That  tears  of  blood  for  every  battle  shed, 

Yet  called  on  mirth  to  help  his  comrades  bear 

The  waiting  hours  of  anguish,  and  that  sped 
WTith  loyal  haste  each  breath  of  balm  to  share. 

Only  his  people's  griefs  were  his;    no  part 
Had  he  within  their  joy;   nor  his  the  toll 

To  know  the  love  that  made  rebellion  start, 
Spurred  hosts  unnumbered  to  a  higher  goal; 

That  his  great  soul  should  cleanse  a  nation's  heart, 
His  martyred  heart  awake  a  nation's  soul. 


§ 

C  Pu 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  63 


THE  last  home  of  the  parents  of  Lincoln.  Built  by 
his  father,  Thomas,  in  1831,  near  Farmington, 
Coles  Co.,  111.  The  father  died  here  in  1851  and 
the  step-mother,  Sarah  Bush  Lincoln,  in  1869.  After 
Lincoln  was  elected  President  in  1860,  and  before  leav 
ing  for  Washington  to  be  inaugurated,  he  visited  his 
mother  in  this  cabin  for  the  last  time.  As  he  was 
leaving  her,  she  made  a  prediction  of  his  tragic  death. 
With  arms  about  his  neck,  with  tears  streaming  down 
her  cheeks,  she  declared  it  was  the  last  time  she  would 
ever  see  him  alive,  and  it  proved  to  be  so. 

Lincoln  once  said,  "I  wras  told  that  I  never  would 
make  a  lawyer  if  I  did  not  understand  what  'demon 
strate'  means.  I  left  my  situation  in  Springfield,  went 
to  my  father's  house,  and  stayed  there  till  I  could  give 
any  proposition  in  the  six  books  of  Euclid  at  sight.  I 
there  found  out  what  demonstrate  means." 


LINCOLN   HOMESTEAD,  SPRINGFIELD,  ILLINOIS 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  65 


ON  Monday,  February  11,  1861,  Mr.  Lincoln    and 
family  in  company  with  a  party  left  Springfield, 
Illinois,  for  Washington,  D.  C.  A  light  rain  mixed 
with  snow  was  falling  at  the  time  which  made  the  oc 
casion  a  somewhat  gloomy  one.    Mr.  Lincoln  appeared 
on  the  rear  platform  of  the  car  wrhere  he  bade  farewell 
to  his  neighbors  in  the  following  address : 

"My  friends,  no  one  not  in  my  position  can  ap 
preciate  the  sadness  I  feel  at  this  parting.  To  this 
people  I  owe  all  that  I  am.  Here  I  have  lived  more  than 
a  quarter  of  a  century.  Here  my  children  were  born,  and 
here  one  of  them  lies  buried. 

"I  know  not  how  soon  I  shall  see  you  again.  A  duty 
devolves  upon  me  which  is  greater,  perhaps,  than  that 
which  has  devolved  upon  any  other  man  since  the  days 
of  Washington.  He  never  would  have  succeeded  except 
for  the  aid  of  divine  Providence,  upon  which  he  at  all 
times  relied. 

"I  feel  that  I  cannot  succeed  without  the  same  divine 
aid  which  sustained  him;  and  on  the  same  Almighty 
Being  I  place  my  reliance  for  support,  and  I  hope  you, 
my  friends,  will  pray  that  I  may  receive  the  divine 
assistance,  without  which  I  cannot  succeed,  but  with 
which  success  is  certain.  Again,  I  bid  you  an  affection 
ate  farewell." 

Mr.  Lincoln  thought  that  there  is  a  time  to  joke  and 
pray;  and  if,  as  his  detractors  affirm,  he  joked  all  the 
way  to  Washington,  if  he  did  not  pray  also  (as  we  be 
lieve  he  did,  and  fervently,  too)  he  at  least  desired  the 
prayers  of  others,  as  the  circumstances  recorded  in  the 
following  poem  will  show.  It  is  from  the  pen  of  a  lady 
of  Philadelphia,  Mrs.  Anna  Bache. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN  AT  SPRINGFIELD,  1861 

MY  friends, — elected  by  your  choice, 
From  the  long-cherished  home  I  go, 
Endeared  by  Heaven-permitted  joys, 
Sacred  by  Heaven-permitted  woe, 
I  go,  to  take  the  helm  of  State, 
While  loud  the  waves  of  faction  roar, 
And  by  His  aid,  supremely  great, 
Upon  whose  will  all  tempests  wait, 

I  hope  to  steer  the  bark  to  shore. 
Not  since  the  days  when  Washington 
To  battle  led  our  patriots  on, 
Have  clouds  so  dark  above  us  met, 
Have  dangers  dire  so  close  beset. 
And  he  had  never  saved  the  land 
By  deeds  in  human  wisdom  planned, 
But  that  with  Christian  faith  he  sought 
Guidance  and  blessing,  where  he  ought. 
Like  him,  I  seek  for  aid  divine, 
His  faith,  his  hope,  his  trust,  are  mine. 
Pray  for  me,  friends,  that  God  may  make 

My  judgment  clear,  my  duty  plain; 
For  if  the  Lord  no  wardship  take, 

The  watchmen  mount  the  towers  in  vain." 

He  ceased;    and  many  a  manly  breast 

Panted  with  strong  emotion's  swell, 
And  many  a  lip  the  sob  suppressed, 

And  tears  from  manly  eyelids  fell. 
And  hats  came  off,  and  heads  were  bowed, 

As  Lincoln  slowly  moved  away; 
And   then,   heart-spoken,   from  the  crowd, 
In  accents  earnest,  clear,  and  loud, 

Came  one  brief  sentence,  "We  will  pray!" 


PRESIDENT  LINCOLN  AND  HIS  SECRETARIES, 
JOHN  G.  NICOLAY  AND  JOHN  HAY 

Photographed  at  Springfield,  Illinois,  in  1861 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


ON  the  22nd  of  February,  1861,  Washington's  birth 
day,  on  his  journey  to  Washington,  to  assume  the 
Presidency,  Mr.  Lincoln  raised  a  newflag  over  Inde 
pendence  Hall,  then  went  inside  and  spoke  as  follows: — 

"I  am  filled  with  deep  emotion  at  finding  myself 
standing  in  this  place,  where  were  collected  together 
the  wisdom,  the  patriotism,  the  devotion  to  principle 
from  which  sprang  the  institutions  under  which  we 
live.  You  have  kindly  suggested  to  me  that  in  my  hands 
is  the  task  of  restoring  peace  to  our  distracted  country. 
I  can  say  in  return,  sirs,  that  all  the  political  sentiments 
I  entertain  have  been  drawn,  so  far  as  I  have  been  able 
to  draw  them,  from  the  sentiments  which  originated 
in  and  were  given  to  the  world  from  this  hall.  I  have 
never  had  a  feeling,  politically,  that  did  not  spring 
from  the  sentiments  embodied  in  the  Declaration  of 
Independence.  I  have  often  pondered  over  the  dangers 
which  were  incurred  by  the  men  who  assembled  here 
and  framed  and  adopted  that  Declaration.  I  have 
pondered  over  the  toils  that  were  endured  by  the  officers 
and  soldiers  of  the  army  who  achieved  that  independ 
ence.  I  have  often  inquired  of  myself  what  great  prin 
ciple  or  idea  it  was  that  kept  this  Confederacy  so  long 
together.  It  was  not  the  mere  matter  of  separation  of 
the  colonies  from  the  motherland,  but  that  sentiment 
in  the  Declaration  of  Independence  which  gave  liberty, 
not  alone  to  the  people  of  this  country,  but  hope  to  all 
the  world,  for  all  future  time.  It  was  that  which  gave 
promise  that  in  due  time  the  weight  would  be  lifted 
from  the  shoulders  of  all  men  and  that  all  should  have 
an  equal  chance.  This  is  the  sentiment  embodied  in 
the  Declaration  of  Independence. 

"Now,  my  friends,  can  this  country  be  saved  on  that 
basis?  If  it  can,  I  will  consider  myself  one  of  the  hap 
piest  men  in  the  world  if  I  can  help  to  save  it.  But  if 
this  country  cannot  be  saved  without  giving  up  that 
principle,  I  was  about  to  say  I  would  rather  be  assas 
sinated  on  this  spot  than  surrender  it." 

Four  years  and  two  months  later,  April  22,  1865, 
his  body  lay,  assassinated,  on  the  very  spot  where  he 
had  made  the  above  remarks,  then  being  taken  to 
Springfield,  Illinois,  for  burial. 


70  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

HENRY  WILSON  CLENDENIN,  born  at  Schells- 
burg,  Pennsylvania,  August  1,  1837;  educated  in 
private  schools  and  by  tutors.  Married  Mary  E. 
Morey  of  Monmouth,  Illinois,  October  23, 1877;  to  them 
were  born  five  children,  four  of  whom  survive:  George 
M., manager  Illinois  Stale  Register;  Clarence  R.,  Deputy 
Internal  Revenue  Collector,  Springfield,  Illinois;  Harry 
F.,  proofreader,  Illinois  State  Register,  and  Marie, 
Assistant  Instructor  Physical  Education,  State  Normal 
University,  Normal,  Illinois.  He  was  a  private  of  Com 
pany  I,  Twentieth  Pennsylvania  Volunteer  Infantry,  in 
the  Civil  War.  Began  newspaper  work  on  Burlington 
(Iowa)  Hawkeye.  Afterwards  telegraph  editor  Peoria 
Transcript,  1858;  telegraph  editor  Burlington  Gazette, 
1863,  and  editor  and  proprietor,  Keokuk  Daily  Con 
stitution,  1876-1881 ;  since  that  year  was  editor  and 
president  of  the  Illinois  State  Register.  Postmaster, 
Springfield  1886-90.  Member  Illinois  State  Historical 
Society,  The  Jefferson  Association,  Grand  Army  of  the 
Republic  and  Sons  of  the  American  Revolution.  Direc 
tor  of  Lincoln  Library  at  Springfield,  Illinois,  for  ten 
years.  Member  of  the  First  Congregational  Church  of 
that  city. 

This  sonnet  was  written  by  Mr.  Clendenin,  in  Phila 
delphia,  February  22,  1861,  after  witnessing  Lincoln 
hoist  the  flag  over  Independence  Hall. 


LINCOLN  CALLED  TO  THE  PRESIDENCY 

HARK  to  the  sound  that  speedeth  o'er  the  land! 
Behold  the  sword  in  fratricidal  hand! 
'Tis  duty  calls  thee,  Lincoln,  and  thy  trust 
Demands  that  all  thy  acts  be  wise  and  just. 
No  idle  task  to  thee  has  been  assigned, 
But  work  that's  worthy  of  a  giant  mind— 
And  on  the  issue  hangs  the  nation's  fame 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


71 


As  a  free  people  who  deserve  the  name. 
So,  walk  thou  in  the  way  the  fathers  trod; 
Be  true  to  freedom,  country,  and  to  God; 
Then  truth  will  triumph,  treason  be  undone, 
And  thou  be  hailed  the  second  Washington. 
The  first,  the  Father  of  his  country — thou, 
Its  Saviour.     Bind  the  laurel  on  thy  brow. 


LINCOLN    IN    1858 
From  a  photograph  hy  S.  M.  Fassett  of  Chicago 


72  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


ASf  act  of  Congress  July  9,  1790,  established  the 
District  of  Columbia  as  the  National  Capital, 
and  provided  that  prior  to  the  first  Monday  of 
December,  1800,  the  Commissioners  should  have  fin 
ished  a  suitable  building  for  the  sessions  of  Congress. 
The  site  of  the  Capitol  was  included  in  L'Enfant's  plan 
for  the  city.  The  cornerstone  was  laid  September  18, 
1793,  with  Masonic  rites,  George  Washington  officiating. 
The  wings  of  the  central  building  were  completed  in 
1811,  and  were  partially  burned  by  the  British,  in  1814. 
The  entire  central  building  was  finished  in  1827.  The 
cornerstone  of  the  extension  was  laid  by  President 
Fillmore,  July  4,  1851.  The  extensions  were  first  oc 
cupied  by  Congress  1857  and  1859.  Up  to  that  time  the 
Senate  Chamber  was  the  present  Supreme  Court  Room, 
and  the  Hall  of  Representatives  was  the  present 
National  Statuary  Hall.  The  dome  was  finished  during 
the  administration  of  President  Lincoln.  The  total  cost 
of  the  Capitol  building  and  grounds  was  about  thirty 
million  dollars.  The  remains  of  President  Lincoln  were 
escorted  from  the  White  House  to  the  Capitol  at  three 
o'clock  P.  M.,  on  the  19th  of  April,  1865.  The  number 
in  the  procession  was  estimated  at  forty  thousand,  and 
that  many  more  were  spectators  along  the  route.  The 
burial  service  was  conducted  by  Dr.  Gurley.  The  spe 
cial  train  bearing  the  remains  left  at  8  A.  M.,  Friday, 
April  21,  for  Springfield,  Illinois,  stopping  at  Baltimore, 
Maryland;  Harrisburg  and  Philadelphia,  Pennsylvania; 
Albany  and  Buffalo,  New  York;  Cleveland  and  Colum 
bus,  Ohio;  Indianapolis,  Indiana;  Chicago,  Illinois, 
reaching  Springfield,  Illinois,  the  3d  of  May,  and  was 
buried  the  following  day.  The  body  lay  in  state  in 
all  of  the  above  cities. 


rj  oj  > 

*3     CU 


EH  -33 


74  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


EDWIN  MARKHAM,  born  at  Oregon  City,  Oregon, 
April  23,  1852;  settled  in  California  in  1857,  and 
worked  there  during  his  boyhood,  principally  as  a 
blacksmith.  Worked  his  way  through  the  San  Jose 
Normal  School  and  Santa  Rosa  College.  Became  a 
writer  of  stories  and  verse  for  papers  and  magazines, 
and  principal  and  superintendent  of  California  schools. 
Was  the  author  of  The  Man  With  the  Hoe,  and  Other 
Poems  (1899);  The  Man  With  the  Hoe,  with  Notes 
by  the  Author  (1900);  The  End  of  the  Century  (1899); 
Lincoln,  the  Great  Commoner  (1900);  The  Mighty 
Hundred  Years;  Lincoln  and  Other  Poems  (1901);  The 
Shoes  of  Happiness  (1915).  His  Man  With  the  Hoe 
was  extensively  republished  and  gave  him  wide  fame. 


LINCOLN  THE  MAN  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

WHEN    the   Norn-Mother   saw   the  Whirlwind 
Hour, 
Greatening  and  darkening  as  it  hurried  on, 
She  bent  the  strenuous  Heavens  and  came  down 
To  make  a  man  to  meet  the  mortal  need. 
She  took  the  tried  clay  of  the  common  road — 
Clay  warm  yet  with  the  genial  heat  of  Earth, 
Dashed  through  it  all  a  strain  of  prophecy; 
Then  mixed  a  laughter  with  the  serious  stuff. 
It  was  a  stuff  to  wear  for  centuries, 
A  man  that  matched  the  mountains,  and  compelled 
The  stars  to  look  our  way  and  honor  us. 

The  color  of  the  ground  was  in  him,  the  red  earth; 
The  tang  and  odor  of  the  primal  things — 
The  rectitude  and  patience  of  the  rocks; 
The  gladness  of  the  wind  that  shakes  the  corn; 
The  courage  of  the  bird  that  dares  the  sea; 
The  justice  of  the  rain  that  loves  all  leaves; 
The  pity  of  snow  that  hides  all  scars; 
The  loving-kindness  of  the  wayside  well; 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  75 


The  tolerance  and  equity  of  light 
That  gives  as  freely  to  the  shrinking  weed 
As  to  the  great  oak  flaring  to  the  wind — 
To  the  grave's  low  hill  as  to  the  Matterhorn 
That  shoulders  out  the  sky. 

And  so  he  came. 

From  prairie  cabin  up  to  Capitol, 

One  fair  ideal  led  our  chieftain  on. 

Forevermore  he  burned  to  do  his  deed 

With  the  fine  stroke  and  gesture  of  a  king. 

He  built  the  rail  pile  as  he  built  the  State, 

Pouring  his  splendid  strength  through  every  blow, 

The  conscience  of  him  testing  every  stroke, 

To  make  his  deed  the  measure  of  a  man. 

So  came  the  Captain  with  the  mighty  heart; 
And  when  the  step  of  earthquake  shook  the  house, 
Wresting  the  rafters  from  their  ancient  hold, 
He  held  the  ridge-pole  up  and  spiked  again 
The  rafters  of  the  Home.     He  held  his  place — 
Held  the  long  purpose  like  a  growing  tree — 
Held  on  through  blame  and  faltered  not  at  praise, 
And  when  he  fell,  in  whirlwind,  he  went  down 
As  when  a  kingly  cedar,  green  with  boughs, 
Goes  down  with  a  great  shout  upon  the  hills, 
And  leaves  a  lonesome  place  against  the  sky. 


THE    WHITE    HOUSE 

THE  corner-stone  was  laid  by  George  Washington 
on  the  13th  of  October,  179£.     The  mansion  was 
first  occupied  by  President  John  Adams  in  the 
year  1800,  also  by  every  succeeding  President.    British 
troops  burned  it  in  1814,  in  President  Madison's  term. 
It  was  the  first  public  building  erected  in  Washington. 
It  is  constructed  of  Virginia  freestone,  and  is  170  feet 
in  length,  80  feet  in  depth,  and  consists  of  a  rustic 
basement,  two  stories  and  an  attic. 


JOHN  VANCE    CHENEY,   born   Groveland,   New 
York,    December    29,    1848.      Graduated    Temple 
Hill  Academy,  Genesee,  New  York,  at  seventeen. 
Assistant  principal  there  two  years  later.     Practiced 
law,  New  York,  1875-6;   librarian  Free  Public  Library, 
San  Francisco,  1887-94;    Newberry  Library,  Chicago, 
1894-1909;  author,  The  Old  Doctor,  1881;  and  a  number 
of  poems,  1887-1911. 


76 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  77 


LINCOLN 

THE  hour  was  on  us;  where  the  man? 
The  fateful  sands  unfaltering  ran, 
And  up  the  way  of  tears 
He  came  into  the  years. 

Our  pastoral  captain.    Forth  he  came, 
As  one  that  answers  to  his  name; 

Nor  dreamed  how  high  his  charge, 

His  work  how  fair  and  large, 

To  set  the  stones  back  in  the  wall 
Lest  the  divided  house  should  fall, 

And  peace  from  men  depart, 

Hope  and  the  childlike  heart. 

We  looked  on  him;   "  'Tis  he,"  we  said, 
"Come  crownless  and  unheralded, 
The  shepherd  wrho  will  keep 
The  flocks,  will  fold  the  sheep." 

Unknightly,  yes;    yet  'twas  the  mien 
Presaging  the  immortal  scene, 

Some  battles  of  His  wars 

Who  sealeth  up  the  stars. 


78  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


Not  he  would  take  the  past  between 
His  hands,  wipe  valor's  tablets  clean, 

Commanding  greatness  wait 

Till  he  stands  at  the  gate; 

Not  he  would  cramp  to  one  small  head 
The  awful  laurels  of  the  dead, 

Time's  mighty  vintage  cup, 

And  drink  all  honor  up. 

No  flutter  of  the  banners  bold 
Borne  by  the  lusty  sons  of  old, 

The  haughty  conquerors 

Set  forward  to  their  wars; 

Not  his  their  blare,  their  pageantries, 
Their  goal,  their  glory,  was  not  his; 
Humbly  he  came  to  keep 
The  flocks,  to  fold  the  sheep. 

The  need  comes  not  without  the  man; 
The  prescient  hours  unceasing  ran, 

And  up  the  way  of  tears 

He  came  into  the  years. 

Our  pastoral  captain,  skilled  to  crook 
The  spear  into  the  pruning  hook, 

The  simple,  kindly  man, 

Lincoln,  American. 


WHERE  LINCOLN  WORSHIPPED 
New  York  Avenue  Presbyterian  Church,  Washington,  D.  C. 

PRESIDENT  LINCOLN  and  family  attended  this 
church  during  his  Administration.     The  pew  that 
they  occupied  is  still  preserved  in  its  black  walnut 
trimmings,  though  the  rest  of  the  sanctuary  has  been 
refurnished. 


80  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


EMAN  WHITNEY  ALLEN,  born  at  St.  Louis, 
November  19, 1854.  Bachelor  of  Arts,  Washington 
University,  St.  Louis,  1878;  later  Master  of  Arts, 
Princeton  Theological,  1878-80;  Post-graduate  studies 
at  Princeton  University;  (D.  D.,  University  of  Wooster, 
1897).  Ordained  Presbyterian  Minister,  1882;  stated 
supply  Kimmswick,  Missouri,  1881-3;  DeSoto,  Missouri, 
1883-5;  Pastor-elect  Carondelet  Church,  St.  Louis, 
Missouri,  1885-9;  Pastor  South  Park  Church,  Newark, 
New  Jersey,  since  1889.  Director  Board  of  Home 
Missions,  Presbyterian;  Chaplain  New  Jersey  Society 
D.  A.  R.;  Member  Society  American  Authors;  New 
Jersey  Society  S.  A.  R.  Club,  Princeton  (New  York) . 
Has  written  many  poems  and  articles,  including  the 
New  York  Herald's  $1,000  prize  poem  which  was 
published  in  1895. 

Rev.  Dr.  Lyman  Whitney  Allen  of  Newark,  New 
Jersey,  had  for  his  guest  Chief  Justice  Wendell  Phillips 
Stafford  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  District  of  Colum 
bia.  Judge  Stafford  addressed  the  Men's  Club  of  Dr. 
Allen's  church  one  evening,  and  next  day,  in  company 
with  his  host,  visited  the  Lincoln  statue  on  the  court 
house  plaza.  On  the  train  that  bore  him  back  to 
Washington  that  day.  Judge  Stafford  wrote  the  poem 
on  the  Statue.  (See  page  236) . 

A  few  weeks  thereafter  Dr.  Allen  visited  his  friend, 
the  judge,  in  Washington,  and  they  made  a  little  pil 
grimage  to  the  New  York  Avenue  Presbyterian  church. 
In  the  Lincoln  pew  Dr.  Allen  sat  and  meditated,  and  on 
his  way  back  he  wrote  the  verses. 

"I  had  seen  the  Lincoln  statue  many  times,"  says  Dr. 
Allen,  "but,  somehow,  I  could  not  get  started  on  the 
poem  I  knew  could  be  written  around  it."  And  Judge 
Stafford  wrote  to  his  friend  in  Newark:  "I  had  seen 
the  Lincoln  pew  a  score  of  times  without  poetic  result, 
yet  you  come  on  a  one-day  visit  and  carry  away  the 
inspiration  needed." 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  81 


LINCOLN'S  CHURCH  IN  WASHINGTON 

WITHIN  the  historic  church  both  eye  and  soul 
Perceived  it.     'Twas  the  pew  where  Lincoln 

sat— 

The  only  Lincoln  God  hath  given  to  men — 
Olden  among  the  modern  seats  of  prayer, 
Dark  like  the  'sixties,  place  and  past  akin. 
All  else  has  changed,  but  this  remains  the  same, 
A  sanctuary  in  a  sanctuary. 

Where  Lincoln  pra}Ted!     What  passion  had  his  soul— 
Mixt  faith  and  anguish  melting  into  prayer 
Upon  the  burning  altar  of  God's  fane, 
A  nation's  altar  even  as  his  own. 

Where  Lincoln  prayed!     Such  worshipers  as  he 
Make  thin  ranks  down  the  ages.     Wouldst  thou  know 
His  spirit  suppliant?     Then  must  thou  feel 
War's  fiery  baptism,  taste  hate's  bitter  cup, 
Spend  similar  sweat  of  blood  vicarious, 
And  sound  the  cry,  "If  it  be  possible!" 
From  stricken  heart  in  new  Gethsemane. 

Who  saw  him  there  are  gone,  as  he  is  gone; 
The  pew  remains,  with  what  God  gave  him  there, 
And  all  the  world  through  him.     So  let  it  be — 
One  of  the  people's  shrines. 


LINCOLN  IN  1858 

From  a  photograph  in  possession  of  Mr.  Stuart  Brown 
of  Springfield,  Illinois 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  83 


JOHN  JAMES  PIATT  was  born  in  Indiana,  March 
1,    1835.     His   earliest  schooling  was   received   at 
Rising  Sun,  in  Indiana.    At  the  age  of  fourteen  he 
was  set  to  learn  the  printing  business  in  the  office  of 
the  Ohio  State  Journal  at  Columbus,  Ohio,  for  a  brief 
period,  and  at  the  age  of  eighteen  years  first  began  to 
write  verses.    His  poems  were  chiefly  on  themes  con 
nected  with  his  native  West. 


SONNET  IN  1862 

STERN  be  the  Pilot  in  the  dreadful  hour 
When  a  great  nation,  like  a  ship  at  sea 
With  the  wroth  breakers  whitening  at  her  lee, 
Feels  her  last  shudder  if  her  helmsman  cower; 
A  godlike  manhood  be  his  mighty  dower! 
Such  and  so  gifted,  Lincoln,  may'st  thou  be 
With  thy  high  wisdom's  low  simplicity 
And  awful  tenderness  of  voted  power. 
From  our  hot  records  then  thy  name  shall  stand 

On  Time's  calm  ledger  out  of  passionate  days — 
With  the  pure  debt  of  gratitude  begun, 

And  only  paid  in  never-ending  praise — 
One  of  the  many  of  a  mighty  land, 
Made  by  God's  providence  the  Anointed  One. 


PRESIDENT  LINCOLN 


E^COLN    once    said:     "When    any    church    will 
inscribe  over  its  altar,  as  its  sole  qualification  for 
membership,  the  Saviour's   condensed  statement 
of  the  substance  of  both  law  and  gospel,  'Thou  shalt 
love  the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart  and  with  all 
thy  soul  and  with  all  thy  mind,  and  thy  neighbor  as 
thyself,  that  church  will  I  join  with  all  my  heart  and 
all  my  soul." 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  85 


LINCOLN,  SOLDIER  OF  CHRIST 

From  Macmillans  Magazine.,  England 

EJCOLN!  When  men  would  name  a  man 
Just,  unperturbed,  magnanimous, 
Tried  in  the  lowest  seat  of  all, 
Tried  in  the  chief  seat  of  the  house — 

Lincoln!    When  men  would  name  a  man 
Who  wrought  the  great  work  oi  his  age, 

Who  fought,  and  fought  the  noblest  fight, 
And  marshalled  it  from  stage  to  stage. 

Victorious,  out  of  dusk  and  dark, 
And  into  dawn  and  on  till  day, 

Most  humble  when  the  pseans  rang, 
Least  rigid  when  the  enemy  lay 

Prostrated  for  his  feet  to  tread — 

This  name  of  Lincoln  will  they  name, 

A  name  revered,  a  name  of  scorn, 
Of  scorn  to  sundry,  not  to  fame. 

Lincoln;    the  man  who  freed  the  slave; 

Lincoln,  whom  never  self  enticed; 
Slain  Lincoln,  worthy  found  to  die 

A  soldier  of  the  captain  Christ. 


LINCOLN  IN  1860 

Photographed  by  Brady  at  the  time  of  the  "Cooper  Institute  Speech." 
Ffihruary,  I860 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  87 


REV.  HAMILTON  SCHUYLER  was  born  in 
Oswego,  New  York,  1862,  and  is  a  son  of  the  late 
Anthony  Schuyler,  who  was  for  many  years 
rector  of  Grace  Church,  Orange,  New  Jersey.  He  be 
longs  to  the  well-known  family  of  that  name,  being 
seventh  in  descent  from  Philip  Peterse  Schuyler, 
founder  of  the  family,  who  came  to  this  country  from 
Holland  and  settled  in  Albany  in  1650.  He  studied  at 
Oxford  University,  England,  and  the  General  Theo 
logical  Seminary  of  New  York.  Has  held  positions  in 
Calvary  Church,  New  York;  Trinity  Church,  New 
port,  Rhode  Island,  and  was  for  several  years  dean  of 
the  Cathedral  at  Davenport,  Iowa,  under  the  late 
Bishop  Perry.  He  began  his  rectorship  at  Trenton 
in  February,  1900.  Has  written  extensively  for  journals 
and  periodicals.  Among  the  bound  publications  which 
bear  his  name  as  author  are  A  Fisher  of  Men,  a  biog 
raphy  of  the  late  Churchill  Satterlee,  priest  and  mis 
sionary,  son  of  the  first  Bishop  of  Washington ;  Studies 
in  English  Church  History;  The  Intellectual  Crisis 
Confronting  Christianity;  and  A  History  of  Trinity 
Church,  Trenton.  In  1900  his  poem,  The  Incapable,  won 
a  prize  of  two  hundred  dollars  offered  by  the  late 
Collis  P.  Huntington  through  the  New  York  Sun,  for  the 
best  poems  antithetical  to  Edwin  Markham's  Man 
With  the  Hoe.  A  volume  of  Mr.  Schuyler's  verses, 
under  the  title  Within  the  Cloister's  Shadow,  was  pub 
lished  in  1914. 


A  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  LINCOLN 

From  Lincoln  Centenary  Ode 

TALL,  ungainly,  gaunt  of  limb, 
Rudely  Nature  molded  him. 
Awkward  form  and  homely  face, 
Owing  naught  to  outward  grace; 
Yet,  behind  the  rugged  mien 
Were  a  mind  and  soul  serene, 


PRESIDENT  LINCOLN 
Photograph  by  Gardner,  Washington 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  89 


And  in  deep-set  eyes  there  shone 
Genius  that  was  all  his  own. 
Humor  quaint  with  pathos  blent 
To  his  speech  attraction  lent; 
Telling  phrase  and  homely  quip 
Falling  lightly  from  his  lip. 
Eloquent  of  tongue,  and  clear, 
Logical,  devoid  of  fear, 
Making  plain  whate'er  was  dense 
By  the  light  of  common  sense. 
Tender  as  the  bravest  be, 
Pitiful  in  high  degree, 
Wrathful  only  where  offence 
Led  to  grievous  consequence; 
Hating  sham  and  empty  show; 
Chivalrous  to  beaten  foe; 
Ever  patient  in  his  ways; 
Cheerful  in  the  darkest  days; 
Not  a  demi-god  or  saint 
Such  as  fancy  loves  to  paint, 
But  a  truly  human  man 
Built  on  the  heroic  plan. 


EMANCIPATION  GROUP 


MOSES  KIMBALL,  a  citizen  of  Boston,  presented 
to  the  city  a  duplicate  of  the  Freedman's  Memo 
rial  Statue  erected  in  Lincoln  Park,  Washington, 
D.  C.,  after  a  design  by  Thomas  Ball.     The  group, 
which  stands  in  Park  Square,  represents  the  figure  of 
a  slave  from   whose  limbs   the  broken    fetters    have 
fallen,   kneeling  in  gratitude  at  the  feet  of  Lincoln. 
The  verses  which  follow  were  written  for  the  unveiling 
of  the  statue,  December  9,  1879. 


90 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  91 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER,  born  December 
17,  1807,  in  Haverhill,  Massachusetts.  He  lived 
on  a  farm  until  he  reached  the  age  of  eighteen, 
working  a  little  at  shoemaking  and  also  writing  poetry 
for  the  Haverhill  Gazette.  Later  he  became  editor  of  a 
number  of  papers,  and  his  poems  in  after  life  were  full 
of  patriotism  and  the  love  of  human  freedom,  all  of 
which  attained  a  strong  hold  on  the  hearts  of  the 
people.  He  would  have  prevented  war,  if  possible, 
with  honor,  but  when  war  came  he  wrote  in  support  of 
the  Union  cause,  displaying  no  bitterness,  and  when 
the  conflict  was  over  he  was  most  liberal  and  concilia 
tory.  He  was  one  of  the  most  popular  of  poets. 
He  died  September  7,  1892. 


THE  EMANCIPATION  GROUP 

A1IDST  thy  sacred  effigies 
Of  old  renown  give  place, 
O  city,  Freedom-loved!  to  his 
Whose  hand  unchained  a  race. 

Take  the  worn  frame,  that  rested  not 

Save  in  a  martyr's  grave; 
The  care-lined  face,  that  none  forgot, 

Bent  to  the  kneeling  slave. 

Let  man  be  free!  The  mighty  word 
He  spoke  was  not  his  own; 

An  impulse  from  the  Highest  stirred 
These  chiseled  lips  alone. 

The  cloudy  sign,  the  fiery  guide, 

Along  his  pathway  ran, 
And  Nature,  through  his  voice,  denied 

The  ownership  of  man. 


92  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

We  rest  in  peace  where  these  sad  eyes 
Saw  peril,  strife,  and  pain; 

His  was  the  Nation's  sacrifice, 
And  ours  the  priceless  gain. 

O  symbol  of  God's  will  on  earth 

As  it  is  done  above 
Bear  witness  to  the  cost  and  worth 

Of  justice  and  of  love! 

Stand  in  thy  place  and  testify 

To  coming  ages  long, 
That  truth  is  stronger  than  a  lie, 

And  righteousness  than  wrong. 


PRESIDENT    LINCOLN 
Photograph  by  Brady,  Washington,  D.  C.,  1863 


94  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


HERON  BROWN,  born  at  Willimantic,  Connecti- 
cut,    April    29,    1832.     Graduated    at   Hartford 
Theological  Seminary  in  1858;  Newton  Theolog 
ical  Institution,  1859.     Ordained  in  Baptist  Ministry, 
1859;      Pastor    South    Framingham,     Massachusetts, 
1859-62;     Canton,   Massachusetts,    1863-70;    on  staff 
Youth's     Companion     since     1870.      Author     various 
juvenile  stories;   Life  Songs  (poems),  1894;    Nameless 
Women  of  the   Bible,  1904;    The  Story  of  the  Hymns 
and  Tunes,  1907;    Under  the  Mulberry  Tree  (a  novel), 
1909;    The   Birds  of  God,  1911.      He   died   February 
14,  1914. 


THE  LIBERATOR 

WHEN,  scornful  of  a  nation's  rest, 
The  angry  horns  of  Discord  blew 
There  came  a  giant  from  the  West, 
And  found  a  giant's  work  to  do. 

He  saw,  in  sorrow — and  in  wrath — 

A  mighty  empire  in  its  strait, 
Torn  like  a  planet  in  its  path 

To  warring  hemisphere  of  hate. 

Between  the  thunder-clouds  he  stood; 

He  harked  to  Ruin's  battle-drum, 
And  cried  in  patriot  hardihood, 

"Why  do  I  wait?     My  hour  has  come! 

"Was  it  my  fate,  my  lot,  my  woe 

To  be  the  Ruler  of  the  land, 
Nor  own  my  oath  that  long  ago 

I  swore  upon  this  heart  and  hand? 

"That  vow,  like  barb  from  bowman's  string, 
Shall  pierce  sedition's  secret  plea: 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


95 


God  grant  the  bloodless  blow  shall  sting 
Till  brother's  quarrels  cease  to  be! 

"Should  once  the  sudden  wound  provoke 

New  strife  in  anger's  zone 
The  clash  may  be  the  penal  stroke 

That  makes  a  new  Republic  one." 

He  wrote  his  Message — clear  as  light, 
And  bolder  than  a  king's  command — 

And  when  war's  whirlwinds  spent  their  might 
There  was  no  bondman  in  the  land. 


PRESIDENT   LINCOLN 

Photograph  by  Alexander  Gardner,  Washington, 
D.  C.,  January  24,  1863 


96  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


TO  PRESIDENT  LINCOLN 

January  1,  1863 

ECOLN,  that  with  thy  steadfast  truth  the  sand 
Of  men  and  time  and  circumstance  dost  sway! 
The  slave-cloud  dwindles  on  this  golden  day, 
And  over  all  the  pestilent  southern  land, 
Breathless,  the  dark  expectant  millions  stand, 
To  watch  the  northern  sun  rise  on  its  way, 
Cleaving  the  stormy  distance — every  ray 
Sword-bright,  sword-sharp,  in  God's  invisible  hand. 

Better  with  this  great  end,  partial  defeat, 
And  jibings  of  the  ignorant  worldly-wise, 

Than  laud  and  triumph  won  with  shameful  blows. 
The  dead  Past  lies  in  its  dead  winding-sheet; 
The  living  Present  droops  with  tearful  eyes; 
But  far  beyond  the  awaiting  Future  glows. 

Edmund  Oilier,,  in  London  (Eng.)  Morning  Star. 


PRESIDENT  LINCOLN 

Photograph  by  Brady,  Washington,  D.  C. 


98  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


/CHARLES  G.  FOLTZ  was  born  at  West  Winfield, 
V>  Herkimer  County,  New  York,  September  9,  1837. 
His  parents  were  Benjamin  Foltz,  a  Presbyterian 
clergyman,  and  Jane  Harwood  Foltz.  In  1846  the 
family  moved  to  Cuyahoga  County,  Ohio.  In  1849  to 
Wisconsin,  first  to  Rock  County,  then  to  Walworth 
County,  and  in  1854  to  Burlington,  Racine  County, 
where  he  has  since  resided. 


ON  FREEDOM'S  SUMMIT 

ON  freedom's  summit,  Oh,  how  grand 
Stood  Lincoln  ruler  of  our  land, 
As  he  issued  the  sublime  command 
Let  the  enslaved  be  free. 
Ere  long  he  saw  the  Bondmen  rise; 
Ere  long  as  Freedmen  seize  the  prize, 
The  precious  boon  of  liberty. 

A  backward  glance  he  cast 
Into  the  valley  of  the  past, 

Amid  the  shade  and  gloom 

Discerning  slavery's  tomb. 
Out  from  the  depths  his  upturned  eyes 
Beheld  the  fleeing  clouds  the  brighter  skies. 

Upon  him  shone  a  glory  like  the  sun, 

Reflecting  "peace  toward  all,  malice  toward  none." 

As  thus  he  filled  his  high  exalted  place, 

The  brave  emancipator  of  a  race, 

He  thought  of  the  fierce  struggle  and  the  victory 
And  humbly  deemed  himself  to  be 
Only  the  instrument  of  a  Divine  decree. 

Rejoicing  in  the  faith  of  brighter  coming  days 

His  "fervent  prayers"  were  merged  in  those  of  praise. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  99 


Like  unto  psalmists  of  the  olden  time 

His  uttered  thoughts  inspired  the  nation's  song, 
Throughout  the  land  the  chorus  rose  sublime, 

The  exultant  triumph  of  the  right  o'er  wrong. 

"Behold,  what  God  the  Lord  hath  wrought," 

More  than  we  asked,  or  hoped,  or  thought. 
Through  the  "Red  sea"  of  blood  and  carnage 
He  brought  our  nation  free  of  bondage. 

With  Moses  sing,  yea  shout  O  North; 

With  Miriam  answer  back  O  South: 
That  "He  hath  triumphed  gloriously." 

Oh  why  the  sudden  blotting  out  of  light? 
The  cloud  of  sorrow,  dark  as  Plutonian  night, 
That  cast  its  lengthening  shadow  o'er  the  land; 
Changing  to  funeral  dirge  the  choral  grand. 

Swift  as  the  typhoon's  breath— 

The  harbinger  of  death— 
The  cruel  deed  of  hate 
Swept  the  grand  chief  away. 
Unto  this  day,  and  ever  aye, 

The  nation  mourns  her  martyr's  fate. 


100 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


ADDRESS  DELIVERED  AT  THE  DEDICATION 
OF  THE  CEMETERY  AT  GETTYSBURG 

FOUR  score  and  seven  years  ago  our  fathers  brought 
forth  on  this   continent  a  new  nation,  conceived 
in  Liberty,  and  dedicated  to  the  proposition  that 
all  men  are  created  equal. 

Now  we  are  engaged  in  a  great  civil  war,  testing 
whether  that  nation,  or  any  nation  so  conceived  and 
so  dedicated,  can  long  endure.  We  are  met  on  a  great 
battlefield  of  that  war.  We  have  come  to  dedicate 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  101 


a  portion  of  that  field  as  a  final  resting  place  for  those 
who  here  gave  their  lives  that  that  nation  might  live, 
[t  is  altogether  fitting  and  proper  that  we  should  do 
this. 

But,  in  a  larger  sense,  we  cannot  dedicate — we  can 
not  consecrate — we  cannot  hallow — this  ground.  The 
brave  men,  living  and  dead,  who  struggled  here,  have 
consecrated  it,  far  above  our  poor  power  to  add  or 
detract.  The  world  will  little  note,  nor  long  remember 
what  we  say  here,  but  it  can  never  forget  what  they 
did  here.  It  is  for  us  the  living,  rather,  to  be  dedicated 
here  to  the  unfinished  work  which  they  who  fought 
here  have  thus  far  so  nobly  advanced.  It  is  rather 
for  us  to  be  here  dedicated  to  the  great  task  remaining 
before  us, — that  from  these  honored  dead  we  take  in 
creased  devotion  to  that  cause  for  which  they  gave 
their  last  full  measure  of  devotion — that  wre  here 
highly  resolve  that  these  dead  shall  not  have  died  in 
vain — that  this  nation,  under  God,  shall  have  a  new 
birth  of  freedom — and  that  government  of  the  people, 
by  the  people,  for  the  people,  shall  not  perish  from 
the  earth. 

November  19,  1863.  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 

"Undoubtedly  there  were  many  in  the  audience  who 
fully  appreciated  the  beauty  of  the  President's  address, 
and  many  of  those  who  read  it  on  the  following  day 
perceived  its  wondrous  character;  but  it  is  apparent 
that  its  full  force  and  grandeur  were  not  generally 
recognized  then,  either  by  its  auditors  or  its  readers. 
Not  until  the  war  had  ended  and  the  great  leader  had 
fallen  did  the  nation  realize  that  this  speech  had  given 
to  Gettysburg  another  claim  to  immortality  and  to 
American  eloquence  its  highest  glory." — From  the 
monograph  on  the  Gettysburg  Address,  by  Maj. 
William  H.  Lambert. 


102  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


BAYARD  TAYLOR,  born  in  Kennett  Square,  Ches 
ter  County,  Pennsylvania,  on  the  llth  of  January, 
1825.  Died  in  Berlin,  Germany,  on  the  19th  of 
December,  1878.  His  boyhood  was  passed  on  a  farm 
near  Kennett.  He  learned  to  read  at  four,  began  to 
write  at  an  early  age,  and  from  his  twelfth  year  wrote 
poems,  novels  and  historical  essays,  but  mostly  poems. 
In  1837  the  family  moved  to  Westchester,  and  there  and 
at  Unionville  he  had  five  years  of  high-school  training. 
His  first  poem  printed  was  contributed  to  the  Saturday 
Evening  Post,  in  1841,  and  those  to  the  New  York 
Tribune  from  abroad,  written  in  1844,  were  widely  read 
and  shortly  after  his  return  were  collected  and  pub 
lished  in  Views  Afoot,  or  Europe  Seen  With  Knapsack 
and  Staff.  With  a  friend  he  bought  a  printing  office  in 
1846,  and  began  to  publish  the  Phoenixville  Pioneer,  but 
it  was  as  a  poet  that  he  excelled  above  most  other  voca 
tions. 


GETTYSBURG  ODE 

ATER  the  eyes  that  looked,  the  lips  that  spake 
Here,  from  the  shadows  of  impending  death, 
Those  words  of  solemn  breath, 

What  voice  may  fitly  break 
The  silence,  doubly  hallowed,  left  by  him? 
We  can  but  bow  the  head,  with  eyes  grown  dim, 

And,  as  a  Nation's  litany,  repeat 
The  phrase  his  martyrdom  hath  made  complete, 
Noble  as  then,  but  now  more  sadly  sweet: 
"Let  us,  the  Living,  rather  dedicate 
Ourselves  to  the  unfinished  work,  which  they 
Thus  far  advanced  so  nobly  on  its  way, 

And  saved  the  periled  State! 
Let  us,  upon  this  field  where  they,  the  brave, 
Their  last  full  measure  of  devotion  gave, 
Highly  resolve  they  have  not  died  in  vain! — 
That,  under  God,  the  Nation's  later  birth 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


103 


Of  freedom,  and  the  people's  gain 
Of  their  own  Sovereignty,  shall  never  wane 
And  perish  from  the  circle  of  the  earth!" 
From  such  a  perfect  text,  shall  Song  aspire 
To  light  her  faded  fire, 

And  into  wandering  music  turn 
Its  virtue,   simple,  sorrowful,  and   stern? 
His  voice  all  elegies  anticipated; 

For,  whatsoe'er  the  strain, 

We  hear  that  one  refrain: 
"We  consecrate  ourselves  to  them,  the  Consecrated!" 


PRESIDENT    LINCOLN   AND    HIS    SON    THOMAS    ("TAD") 


104  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  TAYLOR,  born  at  Low- 
ville,  New  York,  July  19,  1819.    He  was  for  several 
years  connected  with  the  Chicago  Evening  Journal. 
He  wrote  Pictures  of  Life  in  Camp  and  Field  (1871); 
The  World  on  Wheels,  etc.  (1874);   Songs  of  Yesterday 
(1877);   Between  the  Gates  (1878);   Summer  Savory,  etc. 
(1879);     Duke  Domum    (1884);     Theophilus    Trent,  a 
novel  (1887);   etc.    Among  his  best  known  poems  are: 
Isle  of  the  Long  Ago,  Rhymes  of  the  River,  and  The  Old 
Village   Choir. 


LINCOLN'S  SECOND  INAUGURAL 


The  following  is  an  excerpt  from  a  Centennial  Poem  read  by  B.  F. 
Taylor  on  Decoration  Day  (May  30,  1876),  on  the  occasion  of  the 
centennial  celebration  by  the  Department  of  the  Potomac,  Grand 
Army  of  the  Republic,  at  Arlington  Cemetery,  Washington,  D.  C. 


THEY  see  the  pilgrims  to  the  Springfield  tomb — 
Be  proud  today,  oh,  portico  of  gloom! — 
Where  lies  the  man  in  solitary  state 
Who  never  caused  a  tear  but  when  he  died 
And  set  the  flags  around  the  world  half-mast — 
The  gentle  Tribune  and  so  grandly  great 
That  e'en  the  utter  avarice  of  Death 
That  claims  the  world,  and  will  not  be  denied, 
Could  only  rob  him  of  his  mortal  breath. 
How  strange  the  splendor,  though  the  man  be  past! 
His  noblest  inspiration  was  his  last. 
The  statues  of  the  Capitol  are  there. 
As  when  he  stood  upon  the  marble  stair 
And  said  those  words  so  tender,  true  and  just, 
A  royal  psalm  that  took  mankind  on  trust — 
Those  words  that  will  endure  and  he  in  them, 
While  May  wears  flowers  upon  her  broidered  hem, 
And  all  that  marble  snows  and  drifts  to  dust: 
"Fondly  do  we  hope,  fervently  we  pray 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  105 


That  this  mighty  scourge  of  war  may  speedily  pass 

away: 
With  charity  for  all,  with  malice  toward  none, 

With  firmness  in  the  right 

As  God  shall  give  us  light, 
Let  us  finish  the  work  already  begun, 
Care  for  the  battle  sons,  the  Nation's  wounds  to  bind, 
Care  for  the  helpless  ones  that  they  will  leave  behind, 
Cherish  it  we  will,  achieve  it  if  we  can, 
A  just  and  lasting  peace,  forever  unto  man!" 
Amid  old  Europe's  rude  and  thundering  years, 

When  people  strove  as  battle-clouds  are  driven, 
One  calm  white  angel  of  a  day  appears 

In  every  year  a  gift  direct  from  Heaven, 
Wherein,  from  setting  sun  to  setting  sun 
No  thought  of  deed  of  bitterness  was  done. 
"Day  of  the  Truce  of  God!"  Be  this  day  ours, 

Until  perpetual  peace  flows  like  a  river 
And  hopes  as  fragrant  as  these  tribute  flowers 

Fill  all  the  land  forever  and  forever! 


PRESIDENT   LINCOLN 
Photograph  by  Brady,  Washington,  D.  C. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  107 


HERMANN  HAGEDORN,   born  in   New  York, 
July  18,  1882.    Instructor  in  English  at  Harvard 
in  1909-1911.     Wrote  several  one-act  plays  which 
were  produced  by  the  Harvard  Dramatic  Club,  and  by 
clubs  of  other  colleges.    Author  of  The  Silver  Blade  (a 
play  in  verse),    The   Woman   of  Corinth,   A    Troop  of 
the  Guard  and  other  poems. 


OH,  PATIENT  EYES! 

OH,  patient  eyes!  oh,  bleeding,  mangled  heart! 
Oh,  hero,  whose  wide  soul,  defying  chains, 
Swept  at  each  army's  head, 
Swept  to  the  charge  and  bled, 
Gathering  in  one  too  sorrow-laden  heart 
All  woes,  all  pains; 

The  anguish  of  the  trusted  hope  that  wanes, 
The  soldier's  wound,  the  lonely  mourner's  smart. 
He  knew  the  noisy  horror  of  the  fight, 
From  dawn  to  dusk  and  through  the  hideous  night 
He  heard  the  hiss  of  bullets,  the  shrill  scream 

Of  the  wide-arching  shell, 

Scattering  at  Gettysburg  or  by  Potomac's  stream, 
Like  summer  flowers,  the  pattering  rain  of  death; 
With  every  breath, 

He  tasted  battle  and  in  every  dream, 

Trailing  like  mists  from  gaping  walls  of  hell, 
He  heard  the  thud  of  heroes  as  they  fell. 


PRESIDENT   LINCOLN 
Photograph  by  Brady 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  109 


MARGARET  ELIZABETH  SANGSTER,  born  at 
New  Rochelle,  New  York,  February  22,  1838. 
Educated  privately,  chiefly  in  New  York.  Be 
came  contributor  to  leading  periodicals;  also  editor  of 
Hearth  and  Home,  1871-73;  Christian  at  Work,  1873- 
79;  The  Christian  Intelligencer  since  1879;  postmistress 
Harper's  Young  People,  1882-89;  editor  Harper's 
Bazar,  1889-99;  staff  contributor  Christian  Herald 
since  1894;  Ladies'  Home  Journal,  1899-1905;  Wom 
an's  Home  Companion  since  1905.  Author  Poems  of  the 
Household;  Home  Fairies  and  Heart  Flowers;  On  the 
Road  Home;  Easter  Bells;  Winsome  Womanhood; 
Little  Knights  and  Ladies;  Lyrics  of  Love;  When 
Angels  Come  to  Men;  Good  Manners  for  All  Occasions; 
The  Story  Bible;  Fairest  Girlhood;  From  My  Youth 
Up;  Happy  School  Days.  She  died  June  4,  1912. 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

(February  12,  1809-1909) 

CHILD  of  the  boundless  prairie,  son  of  the  virgin 
soil, 
Heir  to  the  bearing  of  burdens,  brother  to  them 

that  toil; 
God  and  Nature  together  shaped  him  to  lead  in  the 

van, 

In  the  stress  of  her  wildest  weather  when  the  Nation 
needed  a  Man. 

Eyes  of  a  smoldering  fire,  heart  of  a  lion  at  bay, 
Patience  to  plan  for  tomorrow,  valor  to  serve  for  today, 
Mournful  and  mirthful  and  tender,  quick  as  a  flash 

with  a  jest, 
Hiding  with  gibe  and  great  laughter  the  ache  that  was 

dull  in  his  breast. 


110  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

Met  were  the  Man  and  the  Hour — Man  who  was 

strong  for  the  shock — 
Fierce  were  the  lightnings  unleashed;   in  the  midst,  he 

stood  fast  as  a  rock. 
Comrade  he  was  and  commander,  he  who  was  meant 

for  the  time, 
Iron  in  council  and  action,  simple,  aloof,  and  sublime. 

Swift  slip  the  years  from  their  tether,  centuries  pass 
like  a  breath, 

Only  some  lives  are  immortal,  challenging  darkness 
and  death. 

Hewn  from  the  stuff  of  the  martyrs,  write  on  the  star- 
dust  his  name, 

Glowing,  untarnished,  transcendent,  high  on  the  re 
cords  of  Fame. 

Oh,  man  of  many  sorrows,  'twas  your  blood 
That  flowed  at  Chickamauga,  at  Bull  Run, 
Vicksburg,  Antietam,  and  the  gory  wood 
And  Wilderness  of  ravenous  Deaths  that  stood 
Round  Richmond  like  a  ghostly  garrison: 
Your  blood  for  those  who  won, 
For  those  who  lost,  your  tears! 
For  you  the  strife,  the  fears, 
For  us,  the  sun! 
For  you  the  lashing  winds  and  the  beating  rain  in 

your  eyes, 

For  us  the  ascending  stars  and  the  wide,  unbounded 
skies. 

Oh,  man  of  storms!    Patient  and  kingly  soul! 

Oh,  wise  physician  of  a  wasted  land! 

A  nation  felt  upon  its  heart  your  hand, 
And  lo,  your  hand  hath  made  the  shattered,  whole, 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  111 

With  iron  clasp  your  hand  hath  held  the  wheel 
Of  the  lurching  ship,  on  tempest  waves  no  keel 

Hath  ever  sailed. 

A  grim  smile  held  your  lips  when  strong  men  quailed. 

You  strove  alone  with  chaos  and  prevailed; 
You  felt  the  grinding  shock  and  did  not  reel, 
And,  ah,  your  hand  that  cut  the  battle's  path 
Wide  with  the  devastating  plague  of  wrath, 

Your  bleeding  hand,  gentle  with  pity  yet, 

Did  not  forget 
To  bless,  to  succor,  and  to  heal. 


PRESIDENT    LINCOLN 

Photograph  by  Alexander  Gardner,  Washington,  D.  C.,  1864 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  113 


WILBUR  DICK  NESB1T  was  born  at  Xenia, 
Ohio,  September  16,  1871.  Educated  in  the 
public  schools  at  Cedarville,  Ohio.  Was  printer 
and  reporter  on  various  Ohio  and  Indiana  papers  until 
1898;  verse  writer  and  paragrapher  Baltimore  American, 
1899-1902;  since  that  year  writer  of  verse  and  humor 
Chicago  Evening  Post  and  other  newspapers,  con 
tributor  of  stories  and  poems  to  magazines  and  periodi 
cals.  Author  of  Little  Henry's  Slate,  1903;  The  Trail  to 
Boyland  and  Other  Poems,  1904;  An  Alphabet  of  His 
tory,  1905;  The  Gentleman  Ragman,  1906;  A  Book  of 
Poems,  1906;  The  Land  of  Make-Believe  and  Other 
Christmas  Poems,  1907;  A  Friend  or  Two,  1908;  The 
Loving  Cup  (compilation),  1909;  The  Old,  Old  Wish, 
1911;  My  Company  of  Friends,  1911;  If  the  Heart  be 
Glad,  1911;  co-author  with  Otto  Hauerbach  of  The 
Girl  of  My  Dreams,  a  musical  comedy,  1910. 


THE  MAN  LINCOLN 

NOT  as  the  great  who  grow  more  great 
Until  from  us  they  are  apart — 
He  walks  with  us  in  man's  estate; 
We  know  his  was  a  brother  heart. 
The  marching  years  may  render  dim 

The  humanness  of  other  men; 
Today  we  are  akin  to  him 

As  they  who  knew  him  best  were  then. 

Wars  have  been  won  by  mail-clad  hands, 

Realms  have  been  ruled  by  sword-hedged  kings, 
But  he  above  these  others  stands 

As  one  who  loved  the  common  things; 
The  common  faith  of  man  was  his, 

The  common  faith  of  man  he  had — 
For  this  today  his  grave  face  is 

A  face  half  joyous  and  half  sad. 


114  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

A  man  of  earth!     Of  earthy  stuff, 

As  honest  as  the  fruitful  soil, 
Gnarled  as  the  friendly  trees,  and  rough 

As  hillsides  that  had  known  his  toil; 
Of  earthy  stuff— let  it  be  told, 

For  earth-born  men  rise  and  reveal 
A  courage  fair  as  beaten  gold 

And  the  enduring  strength  of  steel. 

So  now  he  dominates  our  thought. 

This  humble  great  man  holds  us  thus 
Because  of  all  he  dreamed  and  wrought; 

Because  he  is  akin  to  us. 
He  held  his  patient  trust  in  truth 

While  God  was  working  out  His  plan, 
And  they  that  were  his  foes,  forsooth, 

Came  to  pay  tribute  to  the  Man. 

Not  as  the  great  who  grow  more  great 

Until  they  have  a  mystic  fame — 
No  stroke  of  fortune  nor  of  fate 

Gave  Lincoln  his  undying  name. 
A  common  man,  earth-bred,  earth-born, 

One  of  the  breed  who  work  and  wait — 
His  was  a  soul  above  all  scorn. 

His  was  a  heart  above  all  hate. 


PRESIDENT   LINCOLN   AT  ANTIETAM 

Photograph  taken  on  the  battlefield, September.  1862, 

with  General  McClellau  and  Allen  Pinkerton 


116  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


EDWIN  ARLINGTON  ROBINSON,  born  at  Head 
Tide,  Maine,  December  22,  1869.    Educated   at 
Gardiner,  Maine,  and  Harvard  University,  1891-3. 
Member  National  Institute  Arts  and  Letters.    Author: 
The  Torrent  and  The  Night  Before,  1896;  The  Children 
of  the  Night,  1897,  1905;  Captain  Craig  (poems),  The 
Town  Down  the  River,  1910. 


THE  MASTER 
(LINCOLN) 

A  FLYING  word  from  here  and  there 
Had  sown  the  name  at  which  we  sneered, 
But  soon  the  name  was  everywhere, 
To  be  reviled  and  then  revered: 
A  presence  to  be  loved  and  feared, 

We  cannot  hide  it,  or  deny 
That  we,  the  gentlemen  who  jeered, 
May  be  fogotten  by  and  by. 

He  came  when  days  were  perilous 

And  hearts  of  men  were  sore  beguiled; 
And  having  made  his  note  of  us, 

He  pondered  and  was  reconciled. 
Was  ever  master  yet  so  mild 

As  he,  and  so  untamable? 
We  doubted,  even  when  he  smiled, 

Not  knowing  what  he  knew  so  well. 

He  knew  that  undeceiving  fate 

Would  shame  us  whom  he  served  unsought; 
He  knew  that  he  must  wince  and  wait — 

The  jest  of  those  for  whom  he  fought; 
He  knew  devoutly  what  he  thought 

Of  us  and  of  our  ridicule; 
He  knew  that  we  must  all  be  taught 

Like  little  children  in  a  school. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  117 


We  gave  a  glamour  to  the  task 

That  he  encountered  and  saw  through, 
But  little  of  us  did  he  ask, 

And  little  did  we  ever  do. 
And  what  appears  if  we  review 

The  season  when  we  railed  and  chaffed? 
It  is  the  face  of  one  who  knew 

That  we  were  learning  while  we  laughed. 

The  face  that  in  our  vision  feels 

Again  the  venom  that  we  flung, 
Transfigured  to  the  world  reveals 

The  vigilance  to  which  we  clung. 
Shrewd,  hallowed,  harrassed,  and  among 

The  mysteries  that  are  untold, 
The  face  we  see  was  never  young 

Nor  could  it  ever  have  been  old. 

For  he,  to  whom  we  had  applied 

Our  shopman's  test  of  age  and  worth, 
Was  elemental  when  he  died, 

As  he  was  ancient  at  his  birth: 
The  saddest  among  kings  of  earth, 

Bowed  with  a  galling  crown,  this  man 
Met  rancor  with  a  cryptic  mirth, 

Laconic — and  Olympian. 

The  love,  the  grandeur,  and  the  fame 

Are  bounded  by  the  world  alone; 
The  calm,  the  smouldering,  and  the  flame 

Of  awful  patience  were  his  own; 
With  him  they  are  forever  flown 

Past  all  our  fond  self -shado wings, 
Wherewith  we  cumber  the  Unknown 

As  with  inept,  Icarian  wings. 


118 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


For  we  were  not  as  other  men: 

'Twas  ours  to  soar  and  his  to  see. 
But  we  are  coming  down  again, 

And  we  shall  come  down  pleasantly; 
Nor  shall  we  longer  disagree 

On  what  it  is  to  be  sublime, 
But  flourish  in  our  perigee 

And  have  one  Titan  at  a  time. 


PRESIDENT  LINCOLN 

Photograph  by  Gardner,  Washington,  D.C.     Taken 
when  Lincoln  appointed  General  U.  S.  Grant  Com 
mander-in-chief  of  the  Army,  in  1864 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  119 


LINCOLN 

By  Harriet  Monroe 

A[D,  lo!  leading  a  blessed  host  comes  one 
Who  held  a  warring  nation  in  his  heart; 
Who  knew  love's  agony,  but  had  no  part 
In  love's  delight;   whose  mighty  task  was  done 
Through  blood  and  tears  that  we  might  walk  in  joy, 
And  this  day's  rapture  own  no  sad  alloy. 
Around  him  heirs  of  bliss,  whose  bright  brows  wear 
Palm  leaves  amid  their  laurels  ever  fair. 
Gaily  they  come,  as  though  the  drum 
Beat  out  the  call  their  glad  hearts  knew  so  well; 
Brothers  once  more,  dear  as  of  yore, 
Who  in  a  noble  conflict  nobly  fell. 
Their  blood  washed  pure  yon  banner  in  the  sky, 
And   quenched  the  brands  laid   'neath  these   arches 

high— 
The  brave  who,  having  fought,  can  never  die. 


PRESIDENT-ELECT   LINCOLN 

From  a  photograph  taken  with  his  Secretaries, 

John  G.  Nicolay  and  John  Hay, 

Springfield,  Illinois,  1861 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  121 


WALT    MASON,    born    at    Columbus,    Ontario, 
May  4,   1862.     Self  educated.     Came  to  the 
United    States     1880.       Connected    with    the 
Atchinson  Globe  1885-7,  later  with  Lincoln  (Nebraska) 
State  Journal  and  other  papers;    editorial  paragrapher 
Evening   News,  Washington,  D.  C.,  1893;    associated 
with  William  Allen  White  on  Emporia  (Kansas)  Gazette 
since  1907.     His  rhymes  and  prose  poems  are  widely 
copied  in  America. 


THE  EYES  OF  LINCOLN 

SAD  eyes  that  were  patient  and  tender, 
Sad  eyes  that  were  steadfast  and  true, 
And  warm  with  the  unchanging  splendor 
Of  courage  no  ills  could  subdue! 

Eyes  dark  with  the  dread  of  the  morrow, 
And  woe  for  the  day  that  was  gone, 

The  sleepless  companions  of  sorrow, 

The  watchers  that  witnessed  the  dawn. 

Eyes  tired  from  the  clamor  and  goading 
And  dim  from  the  stress  of  the  years, 

And  hallowed  by  pain  and  foreboding 
And  strained  by  repression  of  tears. 

Sad  eyes  that  were  wearied  and  blighted 

By  visions  of  sieges  and  wars 
Now  watch  o'er  a  country  united 

From  the  luminous  slopes  of  the  stars! 


*io 


PRESIDENT    LINCOLN    IN    1862 
Photograph  by  Matthew  Brady,  Washington,  D.  C. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  123 


AITHUR  GUITERMAN,  author,  born  of  Ameri 
can  parentage,  at  Vienna,  Austria,  November  20, 
1871.     Editorial  work  on  Woman's   Home  Com 
panion,    Literary    Digest    and    other   magazines    since 
1891.    Author  of  Betel  Nuts,  1907;   Guest  Book,  1908; 
Rubiayat,    including    the    Literary    Omar,    1909,    and 
Orestes     (with    Andre    Tridon),     1909.       Contributor 
chiefly  of  ballad,  lyric  verse  and  short  stories  to  maga 
zines  and  newspapers. 


HE  LEADS  US  STILL 

DARE  we  despair?    Through  all  the  nights  and 
days 
Of  lagging  war  he  kept  his  courage  true. 
Shall  Doubt  befog  our  eyes?     A  darker  haze 

But  proved  the  faith  of  him  who  ever  knew 
That  Right  must  conquer.     May  we  cherish  hate 
For  our  poor  griefs,  when  never  word  nor  deed 
Of  rancor,  malice,  spite,  of  low  or  great, 

In  his  large  soul  one  poison-drop  could  breed? 

He  leads  us  still.  O'er  chasms  yet  unspanned 
Our  pathway  lies;  the  work  is  but  begun; 

But  we  shall  do  our  part  and  leave  our  land 
The  mightier  for  noble  battles  won. 

Here  Truth  must  triumph,  Honor  must  prevail; 

The  nation  Lincoln  died  for  cannot  fail! 


PRESIDENT  LINCOLN 
Photograph  by  Brady,  Washington,  D.  C.,  1864 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  125 


SWEIR  MITCHELL,  born  at  Philadelphia,  Penn- 
•  sylvania,  February  15,  1829.  Educated  in  gram 
mar  school,  and  University  of  Pennsylvania,  but 
was  not  graduated  because  of  illness  during  senior  year; 
Doctor  of  Medicine,  Jefferson  Medical  College,  1850; 
LL.D.,  Harvard,  1886;  Edinburgh,  1895;  Princeton, 
1896;  Toronto,  1896;  Jefferson  Medical  College,  Phila 
delphia,  1910.  Established  practice  in  Philadelphia. 
Author  of  many  works  on  treatment  of  diseases.  Col 
lected  Poems,  1896-1909;  Youth  of  Washington,  1904; 
A  Diplomatic  Adventure,  1905;  The  Mind  Reader, 
1907;  A  Christmas  Venture,  1907;  John  Sherwood, 
Ironmaster,  1911. 


LINCOLN 

CHAINED  by  stern  duty  to  the  rock  of  State, 
His  spirit  armed  in  mail  of  rugged  mirth, 
Ever  above,  though  ever  near  to  earth, 
Yet  felt  his  heart  the  cruel  tongues  that  sate 
Base  appetites  and,  foul  with  slander,  wait 
Till  the  keen  lightnings  bring  the  awful  hour 
When  wounds  and  suffering  shall  give  them  power. 
Most  was  he  like  to  Luther,  gay  and  great, 
Solemn  and  mirthful,  strong  of  heart  and  limb. 
Tender  and  simple,  too;    he  was  so  near 
To  all  things  human  that  he  cast  out  fear, 
And,  ever  simpler,  like  a  little  child, 
Lived  in  unconscious  nearness  unto  Him 
Who  always  on  earth's  little  ones  hath  smiled. 


STATUE    OF   ABRAHAM    LINCOLN 
In  the  Public  Square,  Hodgenville,  Kentucky.     Adolph  A.  Weinman,  Sculptor 

GEORGE   ALFRED   TOWNSEND   was    born   in 
Georgetown,   Delaware,   January   30,    1841.      In 
1860  he  began  writing  for  the  press  and  speaking 
in  public,  and  in  1860  adopted  the  profession  of  journal 
ism.     In  1862  he  became  a  war  correspondent  for  the 
New     York    World,    the    Chicago    Tribune   and   other 
papers,  and  made  an  enviable  reputation  as  a  descrip 
tive  writer.    He  also  published  a  number  of  books  both 
of  prose  and  poetry. 

126 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  127 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

THE  peaceful  valley  reaching  wide, 
The  wild  war  stilled  on  every  hand; 
On  Pisgah's  top  our  prophet  died, 
In  sight  of  promised  land. 

Low  knelt  the  foeman's  serried  fronts, 
His  cannon  closed  their  lips  of  brass, — 

The  din  of  arms  hushed  all  at  once 
To  let  this  good  man  pass. 

A  cheerful  heart  he  wore  alway, 

Though  tragic  years  clashed  on  the  while; 
Death  sat  behind  him  at  the  play— 

His  last  look  was  a  smile. 

No  battle-pike  his  march  imbrued, 
Unarmed  he  went  midst  martial  mails, 

The  footsore  felt  their  hopes  renewed 
To  hear  his  homely  tales. 

His  single  arm  crushed  wrong  and  thrall 
That  grand  good  will  we  only  dreamed, 

Two  races  wept  around  his  pall, 
One  saved  and  one  redeemed. 

The  trampled  flag  he  raised  again, 
And  healed  our  eagle's  broken  wing; 

The  night  that  scattered  armed  men 
Saw  scorpions  rise  to  sting. 


Y.Y.    '• 


PRESIDENT   LINCOLN 
Photograph  by  Brady,  Washington,  D.  C.,  1864 


PAUL  LAWRENCE  DUNBAR,  born  of  negro  par 
ents  at  Dayton,  Ohio,  June  27,  1872.    Was  gradu 
ated  at  the  Dayton  High  School  in  1891,  and  since 
then  has  devoted  himself  to  literature  and  journalism. 
He  has  written  Oak  and  Ivy  (poems) ;   Lyrics  of  Lowly 
Life    (poems),   and    The    Uncalled    (a   novel).     Since 
1898  he  has  been  on  the  staff  of   the  Librarian   of 
Congress. 


12S 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  129 


LINCOLN 

HURT  was  the  Nation  with  a  mighty  wound, 
And  all  her  ways  were  filled  with  clam'rous 
sound. 

Wailed  loud  the  South  with  unremitting  grief, 
And  wept  the  North  that  could  not  find  relief. 
Then  madness  joined  its  harshest  tone  to  strife: 
A  minor  note  swelled  in  the  song  of  life 
Till,  stirring  with  the  love  that  filled  his  breast, 
But  still,  unflinching  at  the  Right's  behest 
Grave  Lincoln  came,  strong-handed,  from  afar, — 
The  mighty  Horner  of  the  lyre  of  war! 
'Twas  he  who  bade  the  raging  tempest  cease, 
Wrenched  from  his  strings  the  harmony  of  peace, 
Muted  the  strings  that  made  the  discord, — Wrong, 
And  gave  his  spirit  up  in  thund'rous  song. 
Oh,  mighty  Master  of  the  mighty  lyre! 
Earth  heard  and  trembled  at  thy  strains  of  fire: 
Earth  learned  of  thee  what  Heaven  already  knew, 
And  wrote  thee  down  among  her  treasured  few! 


PRESIDENT  LINCOLN 
Photograph  by  Gardner, 
Washington,  D.  C.,  1865 


ALICE  GARY  was  born  in  Mount  Healthy,  near 
Cincinnati,  Ohio,  April  20,  1820.    Her  first  book 
of  poems,  with  her  sister  Phoebe,  was  published 
in  1850.    Her  poems  and  prose  writings  were  pictures 
from  life  and  nature,  among  which  were  Pictures  of 
Memory,  Mulberry  Hill,  Coming  Home  and  Nobility. 
She  died  at  her  home  in  New  York  City,  February  12, 
1871.    This  poem  is  inscribed  to  the  London  Punch. 


130 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  131 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

NO  glittering  chaplet  brought  from  other  lands! 
As  in  his  life,  this  man,  in  death,  is  ours; 
His  own  loved  prairies  o'er  his  "gaunt,  gnarled 

hands," 
Have  fitly  drawn  their  sheet  of  summer  flowers! 

What  need  hath  he  now  of  a  tardy  crown, 

His  name  from  mocking  jest  and  sneer  to  save 

When  every  plowman  turns  his  furrow  down 
As  soft  as  though  it  fell  upon  his  grave? 

He  was  a  man  whose  like  the  world  again 
Shall  never  see,  to  vex  with  blame  or  praise; 

The  landmarks  that  attest  his  bright,  brief  reign, 
Are  battles,  not  the  pomps  of  gala  days! 

The  grandest  leader  of  the  grandest  war 
That  ever  time  in  history  gave  a  place, — 

W7hat  were  the  tinsel  flattery  of  a  star 

To  such  a  breast!  or  what  a  ribbon's  grace! 

'Tis  to  th'  man,  and  th'  man's  honest  worth, 
The  Nation's  loyalty  in  tears  upsprings; 

Through  him  the  soil  of  labor  shines  henceforth, 
High  o'er  the  silken  broideries  of  kings. 

The  mechanism  of  eternal  forms — 

The  shifts  that  courtiers  put  their  bodies  through — 
Were  alien  ways  to  him:  his  brawny  arms 

Had  other  work  than  posturing  to  do! 


PRESIDENT    LINCOLN 

Photograph  by  Alexander  Gardner,  Washington, 
D.  C.,  1865 


ROSE  TERRY  COOKE  was  born  in  West  Hartford, 
Connecticut,  February  17,   1827.     Graduated  at 
Hartford   Female   Seminary   in    1843.      She   has 
written  many  short  stories  and  a  number  of  books  of 
poems. 


132 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  133 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

HUNDREDS  there  have  been,  loftier  than  their 
kind, 
Heroes  and  victors  in  the  world's  great  wars: 
Hundreds,  exalted  as  the  eternal  stars, 
By  the  great  heart,  or  keen  and  mighty  mind; 
There  have  been  sufferers,  maimed  and  halt  and  blind, 
Who  bore  their  woes  in  such  triumphant  calm 
That  God  hath  crowned  them  with  the  martyr's  palm; 
And  there  were  those  who  fought  through  fire  to  find 
Their  Master's  face,  and  were  by  fire  refined. 
But  who  like  thee,  oh  Sire!  hath  ever  stood 
Steadfast  for  truth  and  right,  when  lies  and  wrong 
Rolled  their  dark  waters,  turbulent  and  strong; 
Who  bore  reviling,  baseness,  tears  and  blood 
Poured  out  like  water,  till  thine  own  was,  spent, 
Then  reaped  Earth's  sole  reward — a  grave  and  monu 
ment! 


PRESIDENT   LINCOLN 
Photograph  by  Brady,  Washington,  D.  C.,  1865 


T?REDERICK  LUCIAN  HOSMER,  born  at  Fram- 
JL  ingham,  Massachusetts,  October  16,  1840.  Grad 
uated  at  Harvard  in  1869.  Ordained  in  Unitarian 
Ministry  at  Northboro,  Massachusetts,  in  1869. 
Author  of  The  Way  of  Life,  The  .  Thought  of  God,  in 
Hymns  and  Poems. 


134 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  135 


LINCOLN 

THE  prairies  to  the  mountains  call, 
The  mountains  to  the  sea; 
From  shore  to  shore  a  nation  keeps 
Her  martyr's  memory. 

Though  lowly  born,  the  seal  of  God 

Was  in  that  rugged  face; 
Still  from  the  humble  Nazareths  come 

The  Saviours  of  the  race. 

With  patient  heart  and  vision  clear 
He  wrought  through  trying  days — 

"Malice  toward  none,  with  Charity  for  all," 
Unswerved  by  blame  or  praise. 

And  when  the  morn  of  peace  broke  through 

The  battle's  cloud  and  din, 
He  hailed  with  joy  the  promised  land, 

He  might  now  enter  in. 

He  seemed  as  set  by  God  apart, 

The  winepress  trod  alone; 
He  stands  forth  an  uncrowned  king, 

A  people's  heart  his  throne. 

Land  of  our  loyal  love  and  hope, 

O  Land  he  died  to  save, 
Bow  down,  renew  today  thy  vows 

Beside  his  martyr  grave! 


136  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


/CHARLES  MONROE  DICKINSON,  born  at 
V>  Lowville,  New  York,  November  15,  1842.  Edu 
cated  at  Fairfield  (New  York) ,  Seminary  and  Low 
ville  Academy.  Admitted  to  the  bar  in  1865;  practiced 
law  in  the  State  of  Pennsylvania,  at  Binghamton,  New 
York,  and  in  New  York  City  1865-77,  when  he  aban 
doned  the  profession  because  of  broken  health.  Editor 
and  proprietor  of  Binghamton  Republican,  1878-1911. 
In  1892,  upon  his  suggestion  and  initiative  the  various 
news  organizations  were  combined  into  the  present 
Associated  Press.  Presidential  elector,  1896;  United 
States  Consul-General  to  Turkey,  1897-1906;  Diplo 
matic  agent  to  Bulgaria,  1901-1903.  While  acting  in 
this  capacity  the  American  missionary,  Ellen  M. 
Stone,  was  carried  off  by  brigands,  but  released  through 
his  settlement  and  efforts.  Member  board  to  draft 
regulations  for  government  of  American  consular 
service  1906;  American  Consul-General-at-large,  1906- 
October  1,  1908.  Author  of  History  of  Dickinson 
Family,  1885;  The  Children  and  Other  Verses,  1889; 
part  of  political  history  of  State  of  New  York,  1911. 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

IF  any  one  hath  doubt  or  fear 
That  this  is  Freedom's  chosen  clime- 
That  God  hath  sown  and  planted  here 
The  richest  harvest  field  of  Time — 
Let  him  take  heart,  throw  off  his  fears, 
As  he  looks  back  a  hundred  years. 

Cities  and  fields  and  wealth  untold, 
With  equal  rights  before  the  law; 

And,  better  than  all  lands  and  gold — 
Such  as  the  old  world  never  saw — 

Freedom  and  peace,  the  right  to  be, 

And  honor  to  those  who  made  us  free. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  137 


Our  greatness  did  not  happen  so, 
We  owe  it  not  to  chance  or  fate; 

In  furnace  heat,  by  blow  on  blow, 

Were  forged  the  things  that  make  us  great; 

And  men  still  live  who  bore  that  heat, 

And  felt  those  deadly  hammers  beat. 

Not  in  the  pampered  courts  of  kings, 
Not  in  the  homes  that  rich  men  keep, 

God  calls  His  Davids  with  their  slings, 
Or  wakes  His  Samuels  from  their  sleep; 

But  from  the  homes  of  toil  and  need 

Calls  those  who  serve  as  well  as  lead. 

Such  was  the  hero  of  our  race; 

Skilled  in  the  school  of  common  things, 
He  felt  the  sweat  on  Labor's  face, 

He  knew  the  pinch  of  want,  the  sting 
The  bondman  felt,  and  all  the  wrong 
The  weak  had  suffered  from  the  strong. 

God  passed  the  waiting  centuries  by, 
And  kept  him  for  our  time  of  need — 

To  lead  us  with  his  courage  high — 
To  make  our  country  free  indeed; 

Then,  that  he  be  by  none  surpassed, 

God  crowned  him  martyr  at  the  last. 

Let  speech  and  pen  and  song  proclaim 
Our  grateful  praise  this  natal  morn; 

Time  hath  preserved  no  nobler  name, 
And  generations  yet  unborn 

Shall  swell  the  pride  of  those  who  can 

Claim  Lincoln  as  their  countryman. 


*n 


FORD'S  THEATRE 

r  I  AHE  building  is  a  plain  brick  structure,  three  stories 
JL  high,  seventy-one  feet  front  and  one  hundred 
feet  deep.  It  was  originally  constructed  and 
occupied  as  a  Baptist  Church,  but  at  the  beginning 
of  the  war  was  converted  into  a  theatre,  though  never 
used  for  that  purpose  after  the  assassination  of  Lincoln. 
The  government  purchased  it  for  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars,  and  it  is  now  used  as  a  branch  of  the  Record 
and  Pension  Division  of  the  War  Department.  Presi 
dent  Lincoln  was  shot  by  J.  Wilkes  Booth  at  10.20 
o'clock  P.  M.  on  the  evening  of  April  14,  1865,  while 
seated  in  his  private  box  in  the  theatre. 


138 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  139 


SIC  SEMPER  TYRANNIS! 

By  Robert  Leighton 

C  semper  tyrannis!"  the  assassin  cried, 
As  Lincoln  fell.     O  villain!  who  than  he 
More  lived  to  set  both  slave  and  tyrant  free? 
Or  so  enrapt  with  plans  of  freedom  died, 
That  even  thy  treacherous  deed  shall  glance  aside 
And  do  the  dead  man's  will  by  land  and  sea; 
Win  bloodless  battles,  and  make  that  to  be 
Which  to  his  living  mandate  wras  denied! 
Peace  to  that  gentle  heart!    The  peace  he  sought 

For  all  mankind,  nor  for  it  dies  in  vain. 
Rest  to  the  uncrowned  king,  who,  toiling,  brought 
His  bleeding  country  through  that  dreadful  reign; 
Who,  living,  earned  a  world's  revering  thought, 
And,  dying,  leaves  his  name  without  a  stain. 

Liverpool,  England, 
May  5,  1865 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 
Foully  assassinated,  April  14,  IStfo 


TOM  TAYLOR  wrote  the  following  poem,  which 
appeared  in  the  London  Punch,  May  6,  18&5.  The 
engraving  is  a  facsimile  of  the  one  published  in 
the  paper  at  the  head  of  the  poem. 


140 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  141 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN,  FOULLY 
ASSASSINATED 

OU  lay  a  wreath  on  murdered  LINCOLN'S  bier, 

You.  who  with  mocking  pencil  wont  to  trace, 
Broad  for  self-complacent  British  sneer, 
His  length  of  shambling  limb,  his  furrowed  face, 


Y 


His  gaunt,  gnarled  hands,  his  unkempt,  bristling  hair. 
His  garb  uncouth,  his  bearing  ill  at  ease. 

His  lack  of  all  we  prize  as  debonair, 

Of  power  or  will  to  shine,  of  art  to  please, 

You,  whose  smart  pen  backed  up  the  pencil's  laugh. 
Judging  each  step,  as  though  the  way  were  plain: 
Reckless,  so  it  could  point  its  paragraph, 
Of  chiefs  perplexity,  or  people's  pain. 

Beside  this  corpse,  that  bears  for  winding  sheet 
The  Stars  and  Stripes,  he  lived  to  rear  anew, 

Between  the  mourners  at  his  head  and  feet. 
Say,  seurrile-iester,  is  there  room  for  you? 

Yes.  he  had  lived  to  shame  me  from  my  sneer, 
To  lame  my  pencil,  and  confute  my  pen — 

To  make  me  own  this  hind  of  princes  peer, 
This  rail-splitter  a  true-born  king  of  men. 

My  shallow  judgment  I  had  learnt  to  rue, 
Noting  how  to  occasion's  height  he  rose, 

How  his  quaint  wit  made  home-truth  seem  more  true, 
How,  iron-like,  his  temper  grew  by  blows. 


142  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

How  humble,  yet  how  hopeful  he  could  be; 

How  in  good  fortune  and  in  ill  the  same; 
Nor  bitter  in  success,  nor  boastful  he, 

Thirsty  for  gold,  nor  feverish  for  fame. 

He  went  about  his  work — such  work  as  few 
Ever  had  laid  on  head  and  heart  and  hand — 

As  one  who  knows,  where  there's  a  task  to  do, 
Man's  honest  will  must  Heaven's  good  grace  com 
mand. 

Who  trusts  the  strength  will  with  the  burden  grow, 
That  God  makes  instruments  to  work  His  will, 

If  but  that  will  we  can  arrive  to  know, 

Nor  tamper  with  the  weights  of  good  and  ill. 

So  he  went  forth  to  battle,  on  the  side 

That  he  felt  clear  was  Liberty's  and  Right's, 

As  in  his  peasant  boyhood  he  had  plied 

His  warfare  with  rude  Nature's  thwarting  mights — 

The  uncleared  forest,  the  unbroken  soil, 

The  iron-bark  that  turned  the  lumberer's  axe, 

The  rapid,  that  o'erbears  the  boatmen's  toil, 

The  prairie,  hiding  the  mazed  wanderer's  tracks, 

The  ambushed  Indian,  and  the  prowling  bear — 
Such  were  the  needs  that  helped  his  youth  to  train ; 

Rough  culture — but  such  trees  large  fruit  may  bear, 
If  but  their  stocks  be  of  right  girth  and  grain. 

So  he  grew  up,  a  destined  work  to  do, 

And  lived  to  do  it — four  long-suffering  years; 

Ill-fate,  ill-feeling,  ill-report,  lived  through, 

And  then  he  heard  the  hisses  change  to  cheers, 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  143 

The  taunts  to  tribute,  the  abuse  to  praise, 

And  took  both  with  the  same  unwavering  mood; 

Till,  as  he  came  on  light  from  darking  days, 

And  seemed  to  touch  the  goal  from  where  he  stood, 

A  felon  hand,  between  the  goal  and  him, 

Reached  from  behind  his  back,  a  trigger  prest, — 

And  those  perplexed  and  patient  eyes  were  dim, 
Those  gaunt,  long-laboring  limbs  were  laid  to  rest! 

The  words  of  mercy  were  upon  his  lips, 
Forgiveness  in  his  heart  and  on  his  pen, 

When  this  vile  murderer  brought  swift  eclipse 
To  thoughts  of  peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  men. 

The  Old  World  and  the  New,  from  sea  to  sea, 
Utter  one  voice  of  sympathy  and  shame! 

Sore  heart,  so  stopped  when  it  at  last  beat  high, 
Sad  life,  cut  short  just  as  its  triumph  came. 

A  deed  accurst!     Strokes  have  been  struck  before 
By  the  assassin's  hand,  whereof  men  doubt 

If  more  of  horror  or  disgrace  they  bore; 

But  thy  foul  crime,  like  CAIN'S  stands  darkly  out. 

Vile  hand,  that  brandest  murder  on  a  strife, 

Whate'er  its  grounds,  stoutly  and  nobly  striven; 

And  with  the  martyr's  crown  crownest  a  life 
With  much  to  praise,  little  to  be  forgiven! 


DEATHBED    OF    LINCOLN 

IMMEDIATELY  after  the  President  was  shot  in 
Ford's  Theatre  he  was  carried  across  the  street  to 
the  house  of  William  Petersen  and  placed  on  a 
single  bed  in  a  room  at  the  end  of  the  hall.  All  through 
that  weary  night  the  watchers  stood  by  the  bedside. 
He  was  unconscious  every  moment  from  the  time  the 
bullet  entered  his  head  until  Dr.  Robert  King  Stone, 
the  family  physician,  announced  at  twenty-two  minutes 
after  seven  on  the  following  morning  that  he  had 
breathed  his  last  (April  15,  1865).  Upon  this  Secre 
tary  Edwin  M.  Stanton,  Secretary  of  War,  in  a  low 
voice  said:  "Now  He  Belongs  to  the  Ages.9' 


144 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  145 


THE  DEATHBED 

SILENCE  falls,  unbroken  save  by  sobs  of  strong  men 
In  that  room,  where  Lincoln,   at  the  morning 
hour's  chime 
Passed  out  into  the  unknown  from  the  world  of  human 

ken. 

Gone  his  body  and  his  life  work  from  the  world  in 
closed  by  time; 
But  in  the  silence  that  was  falling  after  breath  of 

broken  prayer, 

Words  eternal  broke  the  quiet  like  a  bell  toll  on  the  air; 
Never   in   the   world's   wide   story,   wiser   spoke   nor 

Prophet,  spoke  nor  Sages, 

Than  these  words  that  broke  the  silence:  "He  be 
longs  now  to  the  Ages!" 

"To  the  Ages!"  well  you  spoke  it,  Stanton  of  the  mas 
sive  mind! 

He  belongs,  the  years  have  shown  it,  to  the  world  of 
human  kind! 

Heard  his  story,  where'er  hearts  throb  o'er  the  world's 
far  spreading  way; 

Heard  his  story,  children  listen  at  the  closing  of  the  day ; 

Heard  his  story,  lovers  speak  it  in  their  hushed  and 
saddened  tones 

As  they  wander  in  the  twilight,  dreaming  of  their  com 
ing  homes; 

Heard  his  story,  statesmen  tell  it,  with  a  thrill  of  pride 
and  truth; 

Heard  his  story,  old  men  speak  it  to  the  country's 
growing  youth. 

And  the  years  have  shown  the  Prophets,  and  the 
years  have  shown  the  Sages; 

Writ  in  fire  these  words  of  wisdom,  "He  belongs  now 
to  the  Ages!" 


146 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

President 


EDWIN  M.  STANTON 
Secretary  of  War 


MARION  MILLS  MILLER  was  born  at  Eaton, 
Ohio,  February  27,  1864.  He  was  graduated 
from  Princeton  in  1886,  and  for  several  years 
thereafter  was  an  instructor  there  in  the  English  de 
partment.  In  1889  he  received  the  degree  of  Doctor 
of  Literature  from  his  Alma  Mater.  Since  1893  he  has 
been  engaged  in  literary  and  social  reform  work  in 
New  York  City.  He  has  published  some  verse  and 
fiction,  but  his  most  notable  work  has  been  in  the 
fields  of  translation  and  history.  He  has  edited  The 
Classics — Greek  and  Latin  (15  volumes),  published 
in  1909,  and  Great  Debates  in  American  History  (14 
volumes),  published  in  1913. 

In  1907  he  edited  the  Centenary  Edition  of  The  Life 
and  Works  of  Abraham  Lincoln  in  10  volumes,  logically 
arranged  for  ready  reference.  The  Life  of  Lincoln 
was  published  separately  in  1908  in  two  volumes.  It 
is  based  on  a  manuscript  by  Henry  C.  Whitney,  whose 
name  it  bears  as  author,  although  the  second  volume, 
Lincoln,  the  President,  was  largely  written  by  Dr. 
Miller.  The  late  Major  William  H.  Lambert,  presi- 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  147 


dent  of  the  Lincoln  Fellowship,  called  it  "the  best  of 
the  shorter  biographies  of  Lincoln."  Dr.  Miller  has 
also  edited  The  Wisdom  of  Lincoln  (1908),  a  small 
book  of  extracts  from  Lincoln's  speeches  and  writings. 
He  wrote  the  following  poem,  "Lincoln  and  Stanton," 
especially  for  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN. 

The  first  reference  in  it  is  to  the  Manny-McCormick 
case  over  the  patent  rights  of  the  reaping  machine,  in 
which  Lincoln  had  been  at  first  selected  as  principal 
pleader,  but  was  superseded  by  Edwin  M.  Stanton. 
Having  thoroughly  prepared  himself,  he  offered  his 
assistance  to  Stanton,  but  was  brusquely  repulsed. 
He  was  so  hurt  that  he  felt  like  leaving  the  court  room, 
but  decided,  in  loyalty  to  his  client,  to  remain,  and, 
leaving  his  place  among  counsel,  took  a  seat  in  the 
audience.  Despite  his  injured  feelings  he  was  filled 
with  admiration  for  Stanton's  able  and  successful  con 
duct  of  the  case.  Lincoln,  probably  referring  to  a  slur 
of  Stanton  reported  to  him,  said  that  he  would  have 
to  go  back  to  Illinois  and  "study  more  law,"  since  the 
"college-bred"  lawyers  were  pushing  hard  the  "corn 
field"  ones. 

The  second  reference  is  to  Stanton's  criticism  of 
Lincoln's  conservative  course  during  the  first  months 
of  his  Presidency;  "that  imbecile  at  the  White  House," 
he  called  him.  Stanton  as  Attorney-General  at  the 
close  of  Buchanan's  administration  had  done  effective 
work  in  foiling  the  plans  of  the  Confederacy,  and  he 
believed  in  forceful  measures  to  put  down  the  rebellion 
in  its  incipiency. 

The  third  reference  is  to  the  virtually  enforced  resig 
nation  of  Simon  Cameron,  Lincoln's  first  Secretary  of 
War,  and  Lincoln's  choice  to  succeed  him  of  Stanton, 
whom  he  realized  to  be  the  best  equipped  man  in  the 
country  for  the  place. 

The  fourth  reference  is  to  Stanton's  remark  by  the 
bedside  of  Lincoln  as  the  stricken  President  ceased 
breathing:  "There  lies  the  greatest  leader  of  men  the 
world  ever  saw." 


148  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN  AND   STANTON 

E^COLN  had  cause  one  man  alone  to  hate: 
A  fellow-lawyer,  lacking  in  all  grace, 
Who  cast  uncalled-for  insult  in  his  face 
When  Lincoln  as  his  colleague,  with  innate 
Courtesy,  proffered  aid.    With  pride  inflate 
The  scornful  Stanton  waved  him  to  his  place, 
Snapping,  ''I  need  no  help  to  try  this  case"; 
And  "cornfield  lawyer"  muttered  of  his  mate. 

And  when,  as  captain  of  the  Union  ship, 

Lincoln  drew  sail  before  the  gathering  storm 

Till  favoring  winds  the  shrouds  unfurled  should  fill, 
Stanton  again  curled  his  contemptuous  lip 
And,  with  the  impatience  of  a  patriot  warm, 
Sneered  at  the  helmsman,  "craven  imbecile." 

Laid  was  the  course  at  length;  the  sails  untried 

Were  spread;  the  raw  crew  set  at  spar  and  coil. 

Now  round  the  prow  Charybdean  waters  boil 
And  ever  higher  surges  war's  red  tide. 
The  mate  who  should  the  captain's  care  divide 

Has  strengthless  proved.    Where  shall,  the  foe  to  foil, 

A  man  be  found  able  to  bear  the  toil 
And  stand,  to  steer  the  ship,  by  Lincoln's  side? 

Stanton  he  called!     The  bitter  choice  he  made 
For  country,  not  himself.     The  ship  was  driven 

By  the  great  twain  through  war's  abyss,  again 
Into  calm  seas.     Then  Lincoln  low  was  laid, 
And  Stanton  paid  him  highest  tribute  given 
To  mortal:   "Mightiest  leader  among  men!" 


HOUSE  IN  WHICH  LINCOLN  DIED  JOSEPHINE  OLDROYD  TIEFENTHALER 

Washington,  D.  C.  Born  July  17, 1896.    Died  February  20, 1908 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  151 


R3BERT  MACKAY  and  his  wife  visited  this  his 
toric  house  in  1902.  They  were  met  at  the  door 
and  escorted  through  the  various  rooms  containing 
the  Collection  by  Little  Josephine,  and  were  deeply  im 
pressed  at  the  knowledge  she  exhibited  of  Lincoln  and 
the  Collection,  although  she  was  but  six  years  of  age. 
Mr.  Mackay  was  born  at  Virginia  City,  Nevada, 
April  22,  1871.  Reporter  San  Francisco  Chronicle, 
1886.  Worked  on  newspapers  as  printer,  reporter  and 
editor  until  1895,  when  he  traveled  extensively  over  the 
world  for  the  International  News  Syndicate;  joined 
staff  of  the  New  York  World  in  1899;  managing  editor 
of  Success  Magazine,  1900-1908.  Editor  the  Delineator, 
1908.  Joined  editorial  department  of  the  Frank  A. 
Munsey  Company  in  1909,  contributor  of  short  stories, 
also  other  prose  and  verse. 


THE  HOUSE  WHERE  LINCOLN  DIED 

BOVE  Judea's  purple-mantled  plain, 

There  hovers  still,  among  the  ruins  lone, 
The  spirit  of  the  Christ  whose  dying  moan 
Was  heard  in  heaven,  and  paid  our  debt  in  pain. 

As  subtle  perfume  lingers  with  the  rose, 
Even  when  its  petals  flutter  to  the  earth, 
So  clings  the  potent  mystery  of  the  birth 

Of  that  deep  love  from  which  all  mercy  flows. 

****** 

Within  this  house, — this  room, — a  martyr  died, 

A  prophet  of  a  larger  liberty, — 

A  liberator  setting  bondmen  free, 
A  full-orbed  MAN,  above  mere  mortal  pride. 


152  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

The  cloud-rifts  opening  to  celestial  glades, 
Oft  glimpse  him,  and  his  spirit  lingers  still, 
As  Christ's  sweet  influence  broods  upon  the  hill 

Where  the  red  lily  with  the  sunset  fades. 

A  little  girl  with  eyes  of  heavenly  blue, 

Sings  through  the  old  place,  ignorant  of  all; 
Her  angel  face,  her  cheerful,  birdlike  call 

Thrilling  the  heart  to  life  more  full,  more  true. 


IN  TOKEN  OF  RESPECT 

Translation  from  Latin  verses 

FROM  humble  parentage  and  low  degree 
Lincoln  ascended  to  the  highest  rank; 
None  ever  had  a  harder  task  than  he, 
It  was  perfected — him  alone  we  thank. 

Did  the  assassin  think  to  kill  a  name, 
Or  hand  his  own  down  to  posterity? 

One  will  wear  the  laurel  wreath  of  fame, 
The  other  be  condemned  to  infamy. 

Caesar  was  killed  by  Brutus, 

Yet  Rome  did  not  cease  to  be; 
Lincoln  by  Booth,  and  yet  the  slaves 

In  all  America  are  free! 

Rieti,  France,  May,  1865 


THE  POET'S  LINCOLN  153 


ENGLAND'S  SORROW 

From  London  Fun 

THE  hand  of  an  Assassin,  glowing  red, 
Shot  like   a  firebrand  through  the  western 
sky; 

And  stalwart  Abraham  Lincoln  now  is  dead! 

O!  felon  heart  that  thus  could  basely  dye 

The  name  of  southerner  with  murderous  gore! 

Could  such  a  spirit  come  from  mortal  womb? 
And  what  possessed  it  that  not  heretofore 

It  linked  its  coward  mission  with  the  tomb? 
Lincoln!  thy  fame  shall  sound  through  many  an  age, 

To  prove  that  genius  lives  in  humble  birth; 
Thy  name  shall  sound  upon  historic  page, 

For  'midst  thy  faults  we  all  esteemed  thy  worth. 

Gone  art  thou  now!  no  more  'midst  angry  heat 

Shall  thy  calm  spirit  rule  the  surging  tide, 
Which  rolls  where  two  contending  nations  meet, 

To  still  the  passion  and  to  curb  the  pride. 
Nations  have  looked  and  seen  the  fate  of  kings, 

Protectors,  emperors,  and  such  like  men; 
Behold  the  man  whose  dirge  all  Europe  sings, 

Now  past  the  eulogy  of  mortal  pen! 
He,  like  a  lighthouse,  fell  athwart  the  strand; 

Let  curses  rest  upon  the  assassin's  hand. 


*12 


THE  FUNERAL  OF  LINCOLN 
Ceremonies  in  the  East  Room  of  the  White  House,  April  19,  1865 

AT  ten  minutes  after  twelve  o'clock  Rev.   Charles 
H.  Hal],  of  the  Church  of  the  Epiphany,  opened 
the  service  by  reading  from  the  Episcopal  Burial 
Service  for  the  Dead.     Bishop  Matthew  Simpson  of 
the  Methodist  Church  then  offered  prayer,  and  the  Rev. 
Dr.  Phineas  D.  Gurley,  pastor  of  the  New  York  Avenue 
Presbyterian  Church,  at  which  Mr.  Lincoln  and  his 
family  attended,  delivered  a  sermon.    The  Rev.  E.  H. 
Gray,  D.D.,  of  the  E  Street  Baptist  Church,  closed 
the  solemn  service  with  prayer. 


154 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  155 


PHINEAS  DENSMORE  GURLEY,  born  at  Ham 
ilton,  New  York,  1816.  Educated  at  Union 
College,  Schenectady,  New  York.  Taught  during 
vacation,  graduated  1837.  Studied  theology  at  the 
Theological  Seminary,  Princeton,  New  Jersey.  Was 
licensed  to  preach  in  1840.  In  1840  he  went  to  Indian 
apolis,  Indiana,  and  took  charge  of  a  church.  In  1849 
he  removed  to  Dayton,  Ohio,  taking  charge  of  a 
church,  and  in  1853  moved  to  Washington,  D.  C.,  and 
took  charge  of  a  Presbyterian  Church  on  F  Street, 
afterwards  Willard  Hall.  In  1858  was  elected  Chaplain 
of  the  United  States  Senate.  In  July,  1859,  the  Second 
Presbyterian  Church  and  the  F  Street  Church  united, 
and  were  known  as  the  New  York  Avenue  Presbyterian 
Church,  Dr.  Gurley  becoming  its  pastor  from  March, 
1861,  until  his  death .  President  Lincoln  was  a  pew  holder 
and  a  regular  attendant,  but  was  not  a  member.  On  one 
occasion  the  President  remarked,  "I  like  Dr.  Gurley,  he 
doesn't  preach  politics.  I  get  enough  of  that  during  the 
week,  and  when  I  go  to  church  I  like  to  hear  gospel." 

When  the  President  was  assassinated  Dr.  Gurley 
was  sent  for  and  remained  with  the  President  until 
he  breathed  his  last. 

As  soon  as  the  spirit  took  its  flight,  Secretary  Stanton 
turned  to  Dr.  Gurley  and  said,  "Doctor,  will  you  say 
something?"  After  a  brief  pause,  Dr.  Gurley  said, 
"Let  us  talk  with  God,"  and  offered  a  touching  prayer. 
Dr.  Gurley  died  September  30,  1868. 


THE  FUNERAL  HYMN  OF  LINCOLN 

REST,  noble  martyr!  rest  in  peace; 
Rest  with  the  true  and  brave, 
Who,  like  thee,  fell  in  freedom's  cause, 
The  nation's  life  to  save. 

Thy  name  shall  live  while  time  endures, 

And  men  shall  say  of  thee, 
"He  saved  his  country  from  its  foes, 

And  bade  the  slave  be  free." 


156  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

These  deeds  shall  be  thy  monument, 
Better  than  brass  or  stone; 

They  leave  thy  fame  in  glory's  light, 
Unrival'd  and  alone. 

This  consecrated  spot  shall  be 

To  freedom  ever  dear; 
And  freedom's  sons  of  every  race 

Shall  weep  and  worship  here. 

O  God!  before  whom  we,  in  tears, 

Our  fallen  chief  deplore, 
Grant  that  the  cause  for  which  he  died 

May  live  forevermore. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  157 


HARRIET  McEWEN  KIMBALL,  born  at  Ports 
mouth,  New  Hampshire,  November,  1834.    Edu 
cated  there;   specially  known  as  a  religious  poet, 
although  she  has  written  much  secular  verse;    chief 
founder  of  the  Portsmouth  Cottage  Hospital.    Author 
hymns,    Swallow    Flights;     Blessed    Company    of   All 
Faithful  People;    Poems   (complete  edition),  1889. 


REST,  REST  FOR  HIM 

REST,  rest  for  him  whose  noble  work  is  done; 
For  him  who  led  us  gently,  unaware, 
Till  we  were  readier  to  do  and  dare 
For  Freedom,  and  her  hundred  fields  were  won. 

His  march  is  ended  where  his  march  began; 
More  sweet  his  sleep  for  toil  and  sacrifice, 
And  that  rare  wisdom  whose  beginning  lies 

In  fear  of  God,  and  charity  for  man; 

And  sweetest  for  the  tender  faith  that  grew 

More  strong  in  trial,  and  through  doubt  more  clear, 
Seeing  in  clouds  and  darkness  One  appear 

In  whose  dread  name  the  Nation's  sword  he  drew. 

Rest,  rest  for  him;    and  rest  for  us  today 

Whose  sorrow  shook  the  land  from  east  to  west 
When  slain  by  treason  on  the  Nation's  breast 

Her  martyr  breathed  his  steadfast  soul  away. 


THE  FUNERAL  CAR 

THIS  car  bore  the  remains  of  the  Martyr  President 
to  his  home  in  Springfield,  Illinois,  where  they 
were  laid  to  rest.  The  funeral  train  left  Wash 
ington,  D.  C.,  on  the  21st  of  April,  1865,  proceeded 
from  that  city  to  Baltimore,  Maryland;  Harrisburg  and 
Philadelphia,  Pennsylvania;  New  York  City,  Albany 
and  Buffalo,  New  York;  Cleveland  and  Columbus, 
Ohio;  Indianapolis,  Indiana;  Chicago,  Illinois;  and 
finally  to  Springfield,  reaching  the  latter  place  May  3, 
where  the  last  sad  rites  were  performed  on  the  succeed 
ing  day.  The  body  lay  in  state  in  all  the  above  cities, 
brief  stops  being  also  made  in  many  smaller  places. 


168 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  159 

R [CHARD  HENRY  STODDARD  in  the  following 
Horatian  Ode   made  a  beautiful  analysis   of  the 
Martyr  President's  character,  with  a  magnificent 
picture  of  the  nation's  tribute  of  mourning  for  its  dead 
chief : 

THE    FUNERAL   CAR  OF  LINCOLN 

PEACE!    Let  the  long  procession  come, 
For,  hark! — the  mournful,  muffled  drum — 
The  trumpet's  wail  afar — 
And,  see!  the  awful  car! 

Peace!  let  the  sad  procession  go, 
While  cannon  boom,  and  bells  toll  slow: 
And  go,  thou  sacred  car, 
Bearing  our  Woe  afar! 

Go,  darkly  borne,  from  State  to  State, 
Whose  loyal,  sorrowing  cities  wait 
To  honor  all  they  can 
The  dust  of  that  good  man! 

Go,  grandly  borne,  with  such  a  train 
As  greatest  kings  might  die  to  gain; 
The  Just,  the  Wise,  the  Brave 
Attend  thee  to  the  grave! 

And  you  the  soldiers  of  our  wars, 
Bronzed  veterans,  grim  with  noble  scars, 
Salute  him  once  again, 
Your  late  Commander — slain! 

Yes,  let  your  tears,  indignant,  fall, 
And  leave  your  muskets  on  the  wall; 
Your  country  needs  you  now 
Beside  the  forge,  the  plow! 


160  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

(When  Justice  shall  unsheathe  her  brand- 
If  Mercy  may  not  stay  her  hand, 
Nor  would  we  have  it  so — 
She  must  direct  the  blow!) 

So,  sweetly,  sadly,  sternly  goes 
The  Fallen  to  his  last  repose; 
Beneath  no  mighty  dome, 
But  in  his  modest  Home! 

The  churchyard  where  his  children  rest. 
The  quiet  spot  that  suits  him  best; 
There  shall  his  grave  be  made, 
And  there  his  bones  be  laid! 

And  there  his  countrymen  shall  come, 
With  memory  proud,  with  pity  dumb, 
And  strangers  far  and  near, 
For  many  and  many  a  year! 

For  many  a  year,  and  many  an  age, 
With  History  on  her  ample  page 
The  virtues  shall  enroll 
Of  that  Paternal  Soul. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  161 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT,  born  in  Cum- 
mington,  Massachusetts,  November  3,  1794. 
Died  in  New  York,  June  12,  1878.  He  wrote 
verses  in  his  twelfth  year  to  be  recited  at  school.  Spent 
two  years  at  Williams  College  and  at  the  age  of  eighteen 
began  the  study  of  law.  He  depended  upon  his  profes 
sion  for  a  number  of  years,  although  it  was  not  to  his 
liking.  His  contributions  to  the  North  American 
Review  and  his  poems  published  therein  gained  him  an 
enviable  reputation,  and  reflected  great  credit  upon 
him. 


THE  DEATH  OF  LINCOLN 

OH,  slow  to  smite  and  swift  to  spare, 
Gentle  and  merciful  and  just! 
Who,  in  the  fear  of  God  didst  bear 
The  sword  of  power,  a  nation's  trust. 

In  sorrow  by  thy  bier  we  stand, 
Amid  the  awe  that  hushes  all, 

And  speak  the  anguish  of  a  land 
That  shook  with  horror  at  thy  fall. 

Thy  task  is  done;   the  bond  is  free — 
We  bear  thee  to  an  honored  grave, 

WThose  noblest  monument  shall  be 
The  broken  fetters  of  the  slave. 

Pure  was  thy  life;   its  bloody  close 

Hath  placed  thee  with  the  sons  of  light 

Among  the  noble  host  of  those 

Who  perished  in  the  cause  of  right. 


CITY    HALL,    NEW    YORK,    N.  Y. 

AF  the  time  of  the  appearance  of  the  procession  at 
the  City  Hall  at  least  twenty  thousand  persons 
were  assembled  in  the  immediate  neighborhood. 
While  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  procession  a  number 
of  German  singing  bands  were  marched  into  the  open 
space  before  the  Hall,  and  arranged  on  either  side  of 
the  entrance,  preparatory  to  the  singing  of  a  requiem 
to  the  dead.  The  procession  entered  the  Park  at  about 
half-past  eleven  o'clock,  and  the  hearse  stopped  before 
the  entrance  to  the  Hall.  Here  the  coffin  was  immedi 
ately  taken  from  the  hearse  and  carried  up  the  stairs 
to  the  catafalque  which  had  been  prepared  for  its 
reception,  while  the  singing  societies  rendered  two  very 
appropriate  dirges. 

The  interior  of  the  City  Hall  had  been  decorated 
with  much  taste.  Across  the  dome  a  black  curtain  was 
drawn,  and  the  rays  of  light  thus  conducted  fell  sub 
dued  upon  the  sad  but  imposing  spectacle. 


162 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  163 


HENRY    T.    TUCKERMAN,   a   member  of  the 
Committee  on  Resolutions,  wrote  the  following 
ode  for  the  funeral  obsequies,  on  the  25th  day  of 
April,  1865,  at  New  York  City.    The  Athenaeum  Club 
participated,  bearing  an  appropriate  banner,  the  mem 
bers  wearing  distinctive  badges  of  mourning  and  under 
the  leadership  of  their  Vice-President,  Henry  E.  Pier- 
pont;  the  President,   William   T.    Blodgett,  being   at 
that  time  absent  acting  as  Chairman  of  the  Citizens 
Committee: 


ODE 

SHROUD  the  banner!  rear  the  cross! 
Consecrate  a  nation's  loss; 
Gaze  on  that  majestic  sleep; 
Stand  beside  the  bier  to  weep; 
Lay  the  gentle  son  of  toil 
Proudly  in  his  native  soil; 
Crowned  with  honor,  to  his  rest 
Bear  the  prophet  of  the  West. 

How  cold  the  brow  that  yet  doth  wear 
The  impress  of  a  nation's  care; 
How  still  the  heart,  whose  every  beat 
Glowed  with  compassion's  sacred  heat; 
Rigid  the  lips,  whose  patient  smile 
Duty's  stern  task  would  oft  beguile; 
Blood-quenched  the  pensive  eye's  soft  light; 
Nerveless  the  hand  so  loth  to  smite; 
So  meek  in  rule,  it  leads,  though  dead, 
The  people  as  in  life  it  led. 

O  let  his  wise  and  guileless  sway 
Win  every  recreant  today, 
And  sorrow's  vast  and  holy  wave 
Blend  all  our  hearts  around  his  grave! 


164  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

Let  the  faithful  bondmen's  tears, 
Let  the  traitor's  craven  fears, 
And  the  people's  grief  and  pride, 
Plead  against  the  parricide! 
Let  us  throng  to  pledge  and  pray 
O'er  the  patriot  martyr's  clay; 
Then,  with  solemn  faith  in  right, 
That  made  him  victor  in  the  fight, 
Cling  to  the  path  he  fearless  trod, 
Still  radiant  with  the  smile  of  God. 

Shroud  the  banner!  rear  the  cross! 
Consecrate  a  nation's  loss; 
Gaze  on  that  majestic  sleep; 
Stand  beside  the  bier  to  weep; 
Lay  the  gentle  son  of  toil 
Proudly  in  his  native  soil; 
Crowned  with  honor,  to  his  rest 
Bear  the  prophet  of  the  West. 


LUCY  LARCOM  was  born  in  Beverly,  Mass.,  in 
1826.    At  the  age  of  seven  years  she  wrote  stories 
and  poems.    She  spent  three  years  in  school,  then 
worked  in   the   cotton  mills.     Some   of  her  writings 
attracted  the  attention  of  Whittier,  from  whom  she 
received  encouragement.     At  the  age  of  twenty  she 
went  to  Illinois  and  there  taught  school  for  some  time, 
and  for   three   years   studied   in   Monticello   Female 
Seminary.     She  returned  to  Massachusetts  and  during 
the  war  wrote  many  patriotic  poems. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  165 


TOLLING 

TOLLING,  tolling,  tolling! 
All  the  bells  of  the  land! 
Lo,  the  patriot  martyr 
Taketh  his  journey  grand! 
Travels  into  the  ages, 

Bearing  a  hope  how  dear! 
Into  life's  unknown  vistas, 
Liberty's  great  pioneer. 

Tolling,  tolling,  tolling! 

See,  they  come  as  a  cloud, 
Hearts  of  a  mighty  people, 

Bearing  his  pall  and  shroud; 
Lifting  up,  like  a  banner, 

Signals  of  loss  and  woe; 
Wonder  of  breathless  nations, 

Moveth  the  solemn  show. 

Tolling,  tolling,  tolling! 

Was  it,  O  man  beloved, 
Was  it  thy  funeral  only 

Over  the  land  that  moved? 


ROTUNDA,    CITY    HALL,    NEW   YORK,    N.  Y. 

THE  remains  of  President  Lincoln  lay  in  state  in 
the  City  Hall,  New  York,  from  noon  April  24  to 
noon   April  25,   1865.      Visitors   were   admitted 
to  view  the  remains,  passing  through  the  Hall  two 
abreast.     Singing  societies  sang  dirges  in  the  rotunda 
the  night  through. 


166 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  167 


RICHARD  STORKS  WILLIS  was  born  in  Boston, 
Massachusetts,  February  10,  1819,  was  graduated 
at  Yale  in  1841,  and  adopted  literature  as  his 
profession.      He    has    published    musical    and    other 
poems;  has  edited  the  New   York  Musical  World  and 
Once  a  Week,  and  contributed  also  to  current  literature. 
He  wrote  the  following  : 


REQUIEM  OF  LINCOLN 

NOW  wake  the  requiem's  solemn  moan, 
For  him  whose  patriot  task  is  done! 
A  nation's  heart  stands  still  today 
With  horror,  o'er  his  martyred  clay! 

O,  God  of  Peace,  repress  the  ire, 
Which  fills  our  souls  with  vengeful  fire! 
Vengeance  is  Thine — and  sovereign  might, 
Alone,  can  such  a  crime  requite! 

Farewell,  thou  good  and  guileless  heart! 
The  manliest  tears  for  thee  must  start! 
E'en  those  at  times  who  blamed  thee  here, 
Now  deeply  sorrow  o'er  thy  bier. 

O,  Jesus,  grant  him  sweet  repose, 
Who,  like  Thee,  seemed  to  love  his  foes! 
Those  foes,  like  Thine,  their  wrath  to  spend, 
Have  slain  their  best,  their  firmest  friend. 


168 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


ST.   JAMES    HALL,    BUFFALO,    N.  Y. 


THE  funeral  train  bearing  the  remains  of  President 
Lincoln  reached  Buffalo,  New  York,  on  Thursday 
morning,  the  27th  of  April.  The  body  was  taken 
from  the  funeral  car  and  borne  by  soldiers  up  to  St. 
James'  Hall,  where  it  was  placed  under  a  crape  canopy, 
extending  from  the  ceiling  to  the  floor.  The  Buffalo 
St.  Cecilia  Society  sang  with  deep  pathos  the  dirge 
"Rest,  Spirit,  Rest,"  the  society  then  placed  an  elegantly 
formed  harp,  made  of  choice  white  flowers,  at  the  head 
of  the  coffin,  as  a  tribute  from  them  to  the  honored 
dead.  The  public  were  admitted  to  view  the  remains, 
and  the  following  day  the  remains  reached  Cleveland, 
Ohio. 

JAMES  NICOLL  JOHNSTON  was  born  in  Ardee, 
County  Donegal,  Ireland.    When  two  years  of  age 
the  family  moved  to  Cashelmore,  Sheephaven  Bay, 
County  Donegal.     In  1847  they  moved  to  America. 
He  was  then  between  fifteen  and  sixteen  years  of  age. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


In  1848  they  settled  at  Buffalo,  New  York,  which  has 
been  his  home  until  the  present  time. 

He  has  published  two  editions  of  Donegal  Memories, 
also  two  editions  of  Donegal  Memories  and  Other  Poems, 
and  a  volume  of  Buffalo  verse  collected  by  him  under  the 
title  of  Poets  and  Poetry  of  Buffalo.  He  assisted  in 
collections  of  Buffalo  local  literature,  also  devoted 
much  time  to  the  production  of  publications  of  a  phil 
anthropic  nature. 

REQUIEM 

BEAR  him  to  his  Western  home, 
Whence  he  came  four  years  ago; 
Not  beneath  some  Eastern  dome, 
But  where  Freedom's  airs  may  come, 
Where  the  prairie  grasses  grow, 
To  the  friends  who  loved  him  so, 

Take  him  to  his  quiet  rest; 

Toll  the  bell  and  fire  the  gun; 
He  who  served  his  Country  best, 
He  whom  millions  loved  and  bless'd, 

Now  has  fame  immortal  won; 

Rack  of  brain  and  heart  is  done. 

Shed  thy  tears,  O  April  rain, 

O'er  the  tomb  wherein  he  sleeps! 

Wash  away  the  bloody  stain! 

Drape  the  skies  in  grief,  O  rain! 
Lo!  a  nation  with  thee  weeps, 

Grieving  o'er  her  martyred  slain. 

To  the  people  whence  he  came, 

Bear  him  gently  back  again, 
Greater  his  than  victor's  fame; 
His  is  now  a  sainted  name; 

Never  ruler  had  such  gain — 

Never  people  had  such  pain. 

13* 


PRESIDENT  LINCOLN 
Photograph  taken  in  1863  by  Brady 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES,   born  in   Cam 
bridge,  Mass.,  August  29,  1809.    To  him  belongs 
the  credit  of  saving  the  frigate  Constitution  from 
destruction,  by  a  poem — Aye,  Tear  the  Battered  Ensign 
Down.    He  died  August  7,  1894. 


170 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  171 


SERVICES  IN  MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM 
LINCOLN 

(City  of  Boston,  June  1,  1865) 

OTHOU  of  soul  and  sense  and  breath, 
The  ever-present  Giver, 
Unto  Thy  mighty  angel,  death, 
All  flesh  Thou  didst  deliver; 
What  most  we  cherish,  we  resign, 
For  life  and  death  alike  are  Thine, 
Who  reignest  Lord  forever! 

Our  hearts  lie  buried  in  the  dust 

With  him,  so  true  and  tender, 
The  patriot's  stay,  the  people's  trust, 

The  shield  of  the  offender; 
Yet  every  murmuring  voice  is  still, 
As,  bowing  to  Thy  sovereign  will, 

Our  best  loved  we  surrender. 

Dear  Lord,  with  pitying  eye  behold 

This  martyr  generation, 
Which  Thou,  through  trials  manifold, 

Art  showing  Thy  salvation! 
O  let  the  blood  by  murder  spilt 
Wash  out  Thy  stricken  children's  guilt, 

And  sanctify  our  Nation! 

Be  Thou  Thy  orphaned  Israel's  friend, 

Forsake  Thy  people  never, 
In  one  our  broken  many  blend, 

That  none  again  may  sever! 
Hear  us,  O  Father,  while  we  raise 
With  trembling  lips  our  song  of  praise, 

And  bless  Thy  name  forever! 


LINCOLN    HOMESTEAD,    MAY    4,    1865 

Photographed  by  F.  W.  Ingmire  on  the  day  of  the  funeral,  with  the  members  of  the 
National  Committee  appointed  to  accompany  the  remains  to  Springfield,  Illinois. 

Members  on  the  pavement:  Left  (1)  Hon.  Schuyler  Colfax,  Speaker  of  the  House; 
(2)  Hon.  R.  C.  Schenck,  Ohio;  (3)  Hon  Lyman  Trumbull,  Illinois;  (4)  Hon.  Charles 
E.  Phelps,  Maryland;  (5)  Hon.  W.  H.  Walace,  Idaho;  (6)  Hon.  Joseph  Daily, 
Pennsylvania;  (7)  Hon.  James  K.  Morehead,  Pennsylvania;  (8)  Hon.  Sidney 
Clarke,  Kansas;  (9)  Hon.  Samuel  Hooper,  Massachusetts;  (10)  Hon.  E.  B.  Wash- 
burn,  Illinois;  (11)  Hon.  Thomas  W.  Ferry,  Michigan;  (12)  Hon.  Thomas  B. 
Shannon,  California;  (13)  S.  G.  Ordway,  Sergeant-at-Arms  of  the  House. 

Members  in  the  yard:  Left  (1)  Hon.  Isaac  N.  Arnold,  Illinois;  (2)  Hon.  John  B. 
Henderson,  Missouri;  (3)  Hon.  Richard  Yates,  Illinois;  (4)  Hon.  James  W.  Nye, 
Nevada;  (5)  Hon.  Henry  S.  Lane,  Indiana;  (6)  Hon.  George  H.  Williams,  Oregon; 
(7)  Hon.  George  T.  Brown,  Sergeant-at-Arms  of  the  Senate;  (8)  Hon.  William  A. 
Newell,  New  Jersey. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  173 


WILLIAM  ALLEN,  D.D.,  born  1784,  died  1868. 
Graduated  at  Harvard,  1802.     President  Dart 
mouth    College,    1816-1819,    Bowdoin    College, 
1820-1839.    He  was  the  father  of  American  Biography, 
published  various  volumes  of  poems;    as  a  philologist, 
he  contributed  many  thousands  of  words  and  defini 
tions  to   Webster  and  Worcester's  dictionaries.     He 
was  leader  of  the  American  delegation  to  the  National 
Peace  Congress  at  Versailles  in  1849. 


SPRINGFIELD'S  WELCOME  TO  LINCOLN 

EJCOLN!  thy  country's  father,  hail! 
We  bid  thee  welcome,  but  bewail; 
Welcome  unto  thy  chosen  home — 
Triumphant,  glorious,  dost  thou  come. 

Before  the  enemy  struck  the  blow 
That  laid  thee  in  a  moment  low, 
God  gave  thy  wish:    It  was  to  see 
Our  Union  safe,  our  country  free. 

A  country  wrhere  the  gospel  truth 
Shall  reach  the  hearts  of  age  and  youth, 
And  move  unchained,  in  majesty, 
A  model  land  of  liberty! 

WThen  Jacob's  bones,  from  Egypt  borne, 
Regained  their  home,  the  people  mourn; 
Great  mourning  then  at  Ephron's  cave, 
Both  Abraham's  and  Isaac's  grave. 

Far  greater  is  the  mourning  now; 
For  our  land  one  emblem  wide  of  woe; 
And  where  thy  coffin  car  appears 
Do  not  the  people  throng  in  tears? 


174  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

Thy  triumph  of  a  thousand  miles, 
Like  eastern  conqueror  with  his  spoils — 
A  million  hearts  thy  captives  led, 
All  weeping  for  their  chieftain  dead. 

Thy  chariot,  moved  with  eagle  speed 
Without  the  aid  of  prancing  steed, 
Has  brought  thee  to  that  destined  tomb; 
Springfield,  thy  home,  will  give  thee  room. 

Lincoln,  the  martyr,  welcome  home! 
What  lessons  blossom  on  thy  tomb! 
In  God's  pure  truth  and  law  delight; 
With  firm,  unwavering  soul  do  right. 

Be  condescending,  kind  and  just; 
In  God's  wise  counsels  put  thy  trust; 
Let  no  proud  soul  e'er  dare  rebel, 
Moved  by  vile  passions  sprung  from  hell. 

Come,  sleep  with  us  in  sweet  repose, 
Till  we,  as  Christ  from  death  arose, 
Still  in  His  glorious  image  rise 
To  dwell  with  him  beyond  the  skies. 


STATE   CAPITOL,   ILLINOIS,    1865 

THE   body  of  the  President  lay  in  state  in   the 
Capitol,    Springfield,    Illinois — which    was    very 
richly  draped — from  May  3  to  May  4,  when  it 
was  removed  to  Oak  Ridge  Cemetery. 

TUCY  HAMILTON  HOOPER,  born  in  Philadel- 
.Lrf  phia,  Pennsylvania,  January  20,  1835.  In  con 
junction  with  Charles  G.  Leland  she  edited  Our 
Daily  Fare,  the  daily  chronicle  of  the  Philadelphia 
Sanitary  Fair  in  1864.  She  was  assistant  editor  of 
Lippincott's  Magazine  from  its  foundation  until  she 
went  to  Europe  in  1870.  In  1874  she  settled  in  Paris 
and  since  has  been  correspondent  for  various  journals 
in  this  country.  She  has  published  Poems,  with  Trans 
lations  from  the  German  (Philadelphia,  1864),  another 
volume  of  Poems  (1871);  a  translation  of  Le  Nabob,  by 
Alphonse  Daudet  (Boston,  1879);  and  Under  the 
Tricolor,  a  novel  (Philadelphia,  1880).  She  died  August 
31,  1893. 


175 


176  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN 

HERE  is  a  shadow  on  the  sunny  air, 

There  is  a  darkness  o'er  the  April  day, 
We  bow  our  heads  beneath  this  awful  cloud 
So  sudden  come,  and  not  to  pass  away. 


T 


O  the  wild  grief  that  sweeps  across  our  land 
From  frozen  Maine  to  Californian  shore! 

A  people's  tears,  an  orphaned  nation's  wail, 
For  him  the  good,  the  great,  who  is  no  more. 

The  noblest  brain  that  ever  toiled  for  man, 
The  kindest  heart  that  ever  thrilled  a  breast, 

The  lofty  soul  unstained  by  soil  of  earth, 
Sent  by  a  traitor  to  a  martyr's  rest. 

And  his  last  act  (O  gentle,  kindly  heart!) 
The  noble  prompting  of  unselfish  grace. 

He  would  not  disappoint  the  waiting  crowd 
Who  came  to  gaze  upon  his  honored  face. 

O  God,  thy  ways  are  just,  and  yet  we  find 
This  dispensation  hard  to  understand. 

Why  must  our  Prophet's  weary  feet  be  stay'd 
Upon  the  borders  of  the  Promised  Land? 

He  bore  the  heat,  the  burden  of  the  day, 
The  golden  eventide  he  shall  not  see; 

He  shall  not  see  the  old  flag  wave  again 
Over  a  land  united,  saved,  and  free. 

He  loved  his  people,  and  he  ever  lent 
To  all  our  griefs  a  sympathizing  ear; 

Now  for  the  first  time  in  these  four  sad  years 
The  stricken  nation  wails — he  does  not  hear. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  177 

O  never  wept  a  land  a  nobler  Chief! 

Kind  heart,  strong  hand,  true  soul — yet,  while  we 

weep 
Let  us  remember,  e'en  amid  our  tears, 

'Tis  God  who  gives  to  his  beloved  sleep. 

So  sleeps  he  now,  the  chosen  man  of  God, 

No  more  shall  care  or  sorrow  wring  his  breast; 

The  weary  one  and  heavy  laden,  lies 

Hushed  by  the  voice  of  God  to  endless  rest. 

We  need  no  solemn  knell,  no  tolling  bells, 
No  chanted  dirge,  no  vain  words  sadly  said. 

The  saddest  knell  that  ever  stirred  the  air 

Rang  in  those  words,  "Our  President  is  dead!" 


PUBLIC  VAULT,  OAK  RIDGE  CEMETERY,  SPRINGFIELD,  ILL., 
On  the  day  of  Lincoln's  funeral 


THE  remains  of  President  Lincoln  were  deposited 
in  this  receiving  vault  of  Oak  Ridge  Cemetery, 
Springfield,  Illinois,  on  the  4th  of  May,   1865, 
where  they  remained  until  December  21,  1865,  when 
they  were  removed  to  a  temporary  vault  near  the  site 
of  the  public  one.    On  September  19,  1871,  the  remains 
were  removed  to  the  monument  which  had  been  erected 
and  which  stands  on  the  top  of  the  hill  in  that  cemetery 
back  of  the  public  vault.    The  remains  of  Mrs.  Lincoln, 
Willie   and   Thomas    (Tad),    are   also   resting   there. 


178 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  179 

LET   THE   PRESIDENT   SLEEP 

By  James  M.  Stewart 

ET  the  President  sleep!  all  his  duty  is  done, 
He  has  lived  for  our  glory,  the  triumph  is  won; 
At  the  close  of  the  fight,  like  a  warrior  brave, 
He  retires  from  the  field  to  the  rest  of  the  grave. 
Hush  the  roll  of  the  drum,  hush  the  cannon's  loud 

roar, 

He  will  guide  us  to  peace  through  the  battle  no  more; 
But  new  freedom  shall  dawn  from  the  place  of  his 

rest, 

Where  the  star  has  gone  down  in  the  beautiful  West. 
Tread  lightly,  breathe  softly,  and  gratefully  bring 
To  the  sod  that  enfolds  him  the  first  flowers  of  spring; 
They  will  tenderly  treasure  the  tears  that  we  weep 
O'er  the  grave  of  our  chief — let  the  President  sleep. 

Let  the  President  sleep — tears  will  hallow  the  ground. 
Where  we  raise  o'er  his  ashes  the  sheltering  mound, 
And  his  spirit  will  sometimes  return  from  above, 
There  to  mingle  with  ours  in  ineffable  love. 
Peace  to  thee,  noble  dead,  thou  hast  battled  for  right, 
And  hast  won  high  reward  from  the  Father  of  Light; 
Peace  to  thee,  martyr-hero,  and  sweet  be  thy  rest, 
Where  the  sunlight  fades  out  in  the  beautiful  West. 
Tread  lightly,  breathe  softly,  and  gratefully  bring 
To  the  sod  that  enfolds  him  the  first  flowers  of  spring; 
They  will  tenderly  treasure  the  tears  that  we  weep 
O'er  the  grave  of  our  chief — let  the  President  sleep! 


FACADE  OF  PUBLIC  VAULT 

Oak  Ridge  Cemetery,  Springfield,  Illinois,  in  which  the  body 
of  Lincoln  was  placed,  May  4,  1865 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  181 


JAMES  MACKAY,  born  in  New  York,  April  8,  1872. 
Author  of  The  Economy  of  Happiness,  The  Politics 
of  Utility,    and  of    various   lectures    on  Scientific 
Ethics,  etc. 


THE  CENOTAPH  OF  LINCOLN 

A[D  so  they  buried  Lincoln?    Strange  and  vain 
Has  any  creature  thought  of  Lincoln  hid 
In  any  vault  'neath  any  coffin  lid, 
In  all  the  years  since  that  wild  spring  of  pain? 
'Tis  false — he  never  in  the  grave  hath  lain. 
You  could  not  bury  him  although  you  slid 
Upon  his  clay  the  Cheops  Pyramid, 
Or  heaped  it  with  the  Rocky  Mountain  chain. 
They  slew  themselves; — they  but  set  Lincoln  free. 
In  all  the  earth  his  great  heart  beats  as  strong, 
Shall  beat  while  pulses  throb  to  chivalry, 
And  burn  with  hate  of  tyranny  and  wrong. 
Whoever  will  may  find  him,  anywhere 
Save  in  the  tomb.     Not  there — he  is  not  there. 


LINCOLN  MONUMENT 
Springfield,  Illinois,  Larken  G.  Mead,  Architect 


A  MOVEMENT  was  started  shortly  after  the  burial 
of  Lincoln  to  raise  funds  sufficient  to  build  a 
monument  over  his  grave.     Contributions  were 
made  by  various  States  and  societies,  and  about  sixty 
thousand  Sunday-school  scholars  contributed  the  sum 
of   eighteen  thousand   dollars.      Ground  was   broken 
on  the  9th  of  September,  1869,  and  the  monument  was 
dedicated  on  the  15th  of  October,  1874,  at  a  total  cost 
of  two  hundred  and  thirty  thousand  dollars. 


182 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  183 

JAMES  JUDSON  LORD,  born  at  Berwick,  Maine, 
in  1821.  He  had  the  advantage  of  an  excellent 
early  education  followed  by  years  of  research. 
During  his  preparatory  studies  at  Cambridge  he  met 
Longfellow,  wTho  loaned  him  books  from  his  own  library. 
For  a  time  he  studied  art  under  prominent  masters, 
but  his  health  failing,  after  a  time  of  forced  leisure  he 
went  into  the  mercantile  business  in  Boston,  which 
vocation  he  afterward  followed.  In  1851  he  went  to 
Illinois;  finally,  after  his  marriage,  settling  in  Spring 
field.  There  he  knew  Mr.  Lincoln,  with  whom  he  was 
on  terms  of  closest  friendship. 

The  poem  submitted  by  Mr.  Lord  was  selected  for 
reading  at  the  dedication  of  the  National  Lincoln 
Monument  in  a  competition  which  brought  contri 
butions  from  many  leading  poets. 

He  was  the  author  of  several  dramas,  and  from  time 
to  time  contributed  poems  to  leading  magazines  and 
newspapers  of  the  country.  He  died  January  3,  1905. 


DEDICATION  POEM 

Read  by  Richard  Edwards,  LL.D.,  President  Illinois 
State  Normal  University  at  Bloomington,  Illinois 

WE  build  not  here  a  temple  or  a  shrine, 
Nor  hero-fane  to  demigods  divine; 
Nor  to  the  clouds  a  superstructure  rear 
For  man's  ambition  or  for  servile  fear. 
Not  to  the  Dust,  but  to  the  Deeds  alone 
A  grateful  people  raise  th'  historic  stone; 
For  where  a  patriot  lived,  or  hero  fell, 
The  daisied  turf  would  mark  the  spot  as  well. 

What  though  the  Pyramids,  with  apex  high, 
Like  Alpine  peaks  cleave  Egypt's  rainless  sky, 
And  cast  grim  shadows  o'er  a  desert  land 


184  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

Forever  blighted  by  oppression's  hand? 

No  patriot  zeal  their  deep  foundations  laid — 

No  freeman's  hand  their  darken' d  chambers  made — 

No  public  weal  inspired  the  heart  with  love, 

To  see  their  summits  towering  high  above. 

The  ruling  Pharaoh,  proud  and  gory-stained, 

With  vain  ambitions  never  yet  attained; — 

With  brow  enclouded  as  his  marble  throne, 

And  heart  unyielding  as  the  building  stone; — 

Sought  with  the  scourge  to  make  mankind  his  slaves, 

And  heaven's  free  sunlight  darker  than  their  graves. 

His  but  to  will,  and  theirs  to  yield  and  feel, 

Like  vermin'd  dust  beneath  his  iron  heel; — 

Denies  all  mercy,  and  all  right  offends, 

Till  on  his  head  th'  avenging  Plague  descends. 

Historic  justice  bids  the  nations  know 

That  through  each  land  of  slaves  a  Nile  of  blood  shall 

flow: 

And  Vendome  Columns,  on  a  people  thrust, 
Are,  by  the  people,  level'd  with  the  dust. 

Nor  stone,  nor  bronze,  can  fit  memorials  yield 

For  deeds  of  valor  on  the  bloody  field, 

'Neath  war's  dark  clouds  the  sturdy  volunteer, 

By  freedom  taught  his  country  to  revere, 

Bids  home  and  friends  a  hasty,  sad  adieu, 

And  treads  where  dangers  all  his  steps  pursue; 

Finds  cold  and  famine  on  bis  dauntless  way, 

And  with  mute  patience  brooks  the  long  delay, 

Or  hears  the  trumpet,  or  the  thrilling  drum 

Peal  the  long  roll  that  calls:    "They  come!  they  come!" 

Then  to  the  front  with  battling  hosts  he  flies, 

And  lives  to  triumph,  or  for  freedom  dies. 

Thund'ring  amain  along  the  rocky  strand, 

The  Ocean  claims  her  honors  with  the  Land. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  185 


Loud  on  the  gale  she  chimes  the  wild  refrain, 
Or  with  low  murmur  wails  her  heroes  slain! 
In  gory  hulks,  with  splinter'd  mast  and  spar, 
Rocks  on  her  stormy  breast  the  valiant  Tar: — 
Lash'd  to  the  mast  he  gives  the  high  command, 
Or  midst  the  fight,  sinks  with  the  Cumberland. 

Beloved  banner  of  the  azure  sky, 

Thy  rightful  home  where'er  thy  eagles  fly; 

On  thy  blue  field  the  stars  of  heav'n  descend, 

And  to  our  day  a  purer  luster  lend. 

O,  Righteous  God!  who  guard'st  the  right  alway, 

And  bade  Thy  peace  to  come,  "and  come  to  stay" 

And  while  war's  deluge  fill'd  the  land  with  blood, 

With  bow  of  promise  arch'd  the  crimson  flood, — 

From  fratricidal  strife  our  banner  screen, 

And  let  it  float  henceforth  in  skies  serene. 

Yet  cunning  art  shall  here  her  triumphs  bring, 
And  laurel'd  bards  their  choicest  anthems  sing. 
Here,  honor 'd  age  shall  bare  its  wintery  brow, 
And  youth  to  freedom  make  a  Spartan  vow. 
Here,  ripened  manhood  from  its  walks  profound, 
Shall  come  and  halt,  as  if  on  hallow'd  ground. 

Here  shall  the  urn  with  fragrant  wreaths  be  drest, 
By  tender  hands  the  flow'ry  tributes  prest; 
And  wending  westward,  from  oppressions  far, 
Shall  pilgrims  come,  led  by  our  freedom-star; 
While  bending  lowly,  as  o'er  friendly  pall, 
The  silent  tear  from  ebon  cheeks  shall  fall. 

Sterile  and  vain  the  tributes  which  we  pay- 
It  is  the  Past  that  consecrates  today 
The  spot  where  rests  one  of  the  noble  few 
Who  saw  the  right,  and  dared  the  right  to  do. 

*14 


186  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

True  to  himself  and  to  his  fellow  men, 
With  patient  hand  he  moved  the  potent  pen, 
Whose  inky  stream  did,  like  the  Red  Sea's  flow, 
Such  bondage  break  and  such  a  host  o'erthrow! 
The  simple  parchment  on  its  fleeting  page 
Bespeaks  the  import  of  the  better  age, — 
When  man,  for  man,  no  more  shall  forge  the  chain, 
Nor  armies  tread  the  shore,  nor  navies  plow  the  main. 
Then  shall  this  boon  to  human  freedom  given 
Be  fitly  deem'd  a  sacred  gift  of  heaven; — 
Though  of  the  earth,  it  is  no  less  divine, — 
Founded  on  truth  it  will  forever  shine, 
Reflecting  rays  from  heaven's  unchanging  plan — 
The  law  of  right  and  brotherhood  of  man. 


EDNA  DEAN  PROCTOR,  born  in  Henniker,  New 
Hampshire,  October  10,  1838.     She  received  her 
early    education    in    Concord    and    subsequently 
removed  to .  Brooklyn,  New  York.     She  contributed 
largely  to  magazine  literature  and  has  traveled  exten 
sively  abroad.    Of  all  her  poems  By  the  Shenandoah  is 
probably  the  most  popular. 


THE  GRAVE  OF  LINCOLN 

NOW  must  the  storied  Potomac 
Laurels  forever  divide; 
Now  to  the  Sangamon  fameless 
Give  of  its  century's  pride. 
Sangamon,  stream  of  the  prairies, 

Placidly  westward  that  flows, 
Far  in  whose  city  of  silence 

Calm  he  has  sought  his  repose. 
Over  our  Washington's  river 
Sunrise  beams  rosy  and  fair; 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  187 

Sunset  on  Sangamon  fairer, — 
Father  and  martyr  lies  there. 

Break  into  blossom,  O  prairie! 

Snowy  and  golden  and  red; 
Peers  of  the  Palestine  lilies 

Heap  for  your  Glorious  Dead! 
Roses  as  fair  as  of  Sharon, 

Branches  as  stately  as  palm, 
Odors  as  rich  as  the  spices — 

Cassia  and  aloes  and  balm — 
Mary  the  loved  and  Salome, 

All  with  a  gracious  accord, 
Ere  the  first  glow  of  the  morning 

Brought  to  the  tomb  of  the  Lord. 

Not  for  thy  sheaves  nor  savannas 

Crown  we  thee,  proud  Illinois! 
Here  in  his  grave  is  thy  grandeur; 

Born  of  his  sorrow  thy  joy. 
Only  the  tomb  by  Mount  Zion, 

Hewn  for  the  Lord,  do  we  hold 
Dearer  than  his  in  thy  prairies, 

Girdled  with  harvests  of  gold! 
Still  for  the  world  through  the  ages 

Wreathing  with  glory  his  brow, 
He  shall  be  Liberty's  Saviour; 

Freedom's  Jerusalem  thou! 


STATUE   OF   LINCOLN 
In  Lincoln  Park,  Washington,  D.  C.     Thomas  Ball,  sculptor. 


THE  first  contribution  of  five  dollars  for  the  statue 
in  Lincoln  Park,  Washington,  D.  C.,  was  made 
by  a  colored  wroman  named  Charlotte  Scott,  of 
Marietta,  Ohio,  the  morning   after   the  assassination 
of  President  Lincoln,  and  the  entire  cost  of  said  monu 
ment,  amounting  to  $17,000,  was  paid  by  subscriptions 
of  colored  people.    It  was  unveiled  April  14,  1876. 


188 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  189 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL,  born  in  Cambridge, 
Massachusetts,  February  22,   1819.     He  received 
his  degree  in  1838,  at  Harvard,  and  his  first  produc 
tion  was  a  class  poem  which  was  delivered  on  that  date. 
He  was  successor  of  Professor  Longfellow  in  the  chair 
of  Modern  Languages  at  Harvard  College.    In  1877  he 
was   appointed   by   President  Hayes   to   the   Spanish 
Mission,  from  which  he  was  transferred  in  1880  to  the 
Court  of  St.  James.    A  long  list  of  poetical  works  have 
been  published  to  his  credit.     He  died  August  12,  1891. 


COMMEMORATION  ODE 

E'E  may  be  given  in  many  ways, 
And  loyalty  to  Truth  be  sealed 
As  bravely  in  the  closet  as  the  field, 
So  bountiful  is  Fate; 

But  then  to  stand  beside  her, 
When  craven  churls  deride  her, 
To  front  a  lie  in  arms  and  not  to  yield, 
This  shows,  methinks,  God's  plan 
And  measures  of  a  stalwart  man, 
Limbed  like  the  old  heroic  breeds, 

Who  stand  self-poised  on  manhood's  solid  earth; 
Not  forced  to  frame  excuses  for  his  birth, 
Fed  from  within  with  all  the  strength  he  needs. 

Such  was  he,  our  Martyr-Chief, 

WThom  late  the  Nation  he  had  led, 

With  ashes  on  her  head, 
Wept  with  the  passion  of  an  angry  grief; 
Forgive  me,  if  from  present  things  I  turn 
To  speak  what  in  my  heart  will  beat  and  burn, 
And  hang  my  wealth  on  his  world -honored  urn. 


190  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

Nature,  they  say,  doth  dote, 
And  cannot  make  a  man 
Save  on  some  worn-out  plan, 
Repeating  us  by  rote: 

For  him  her  Old  World  molds  aside  she  threw, 
And,  choosing  sweet  clay  from  the  breast 
Of  the  unexhausted  West, 

With  stuff  untainted  shaped  a  hero  new, 

Wise,  steadfast  in  the  strength  of  God,  and  true. 

How  beautiful  to  see 

Once  more  a  shepherd  of  mankind  indeed, 
Who  loved  his  charge,  but  never  loved  to  lead; 
One  whose  meek  flock  the  people  joyed  to  be, 

Not  lured  by  any  cheat  of  birth, 

But  by  his  clear-grained  human  worth, 
And  brave  old  wisdom  of  sincerity! 

They  knew  that  outward  grace  is  dust; 

They  could  not  choose  but  trust 
In  that  sure-footed  mind's  unfaltering  skill, 

And  supple-tempered  will 
That  bent  like  perfect  steel  to  spring  again  and  thrust! 

His  was  no  lonely  mountain-peak  of  mind, 

Thrusting  to  thin  air  o'er  our  cloudy  bars, 
A  sea-mark  now,  now  lost  in  vapors  blind; 
Broad  prairie  rather,  genial,  level-lined, 
Fruitful  and  friendly  for  all  human  kind, 

Yet  also  nigh  to  heaven  and  loved  of  loftiest  stars. 

Nothing  of  Europe  here, 

Or,  then,  of  Europe  fronting  mornward  still, 
Ere  any  names  of  Serf  or  Peer 

Could  Nature's  equal  scheme  deface; 

Here  was  a  type  of  the  true  elder  race, 
And  one  of  Plutarch's  men  talked  with  us  face  to  face. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  191 

I  praise  him  not;    it  were  too  late; 
And  some  innative  weakness  there  must  be 
In  him  who  condescends  to  victory 
Such  as  the  present  gives,  and  cannot  wait, 
Safe  in  himself  as  in  a  fate. 

So  always  firmly  he; 
He  knew  to  bide  his  time, 

And  can  his  fame  abide, 
Still  patient  in  his  simple  faith  sublime, 

Till  the  wise  years  decide. 
Great  captains,  with  their  guns  and  drums, 

Disturb  our  judgment  for  the  hour, 
But  at  last  silence  comes; 

These  are  all  gone,  and,  standing  like  a  tower, 
Our  children  shall  behold  his  fame, 

The  kindly-earnest,  brave,  foreseeing  man, 
Sagacious,  patient,  dreading  praise,  not  blame, 

New  birth  of  our  new  soil,  the  first  American. 


STATUE  OF  LINCOLN 
By  Leonard  W.  Volk 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  193 

RICHARD  HENRY  STODDARD,  born  in  Hing- 
ham,    Massachusetts,    July    2,    1825.      His    first 
book,  entitled  Foot  Prints,  was  published  in  1849, 
and  some  three  years  after  a  more  mature  collection 
of  poems  was  published.     In  later  years  a  number  of 
his   books  were    published,   all    of   which    have    been 
received  with  approbation  by  the  public.     Died  May 
12,  1903. 

AN  HORATIAN  ODE 

(To  Lincoln) 


N 


OT  as  when  some  great  captain  falls 
In  battle,  where  his  country  calls, 

Beyond  the  struggling  lines 
That  push  his  dread  designs 


To  doom,  by  some  stray  ball  struck  dead: 
Or  in  the  last  charge,  at  the  head 

Of  his  determined  men, 

Who  must  be  victors  then! 

Nor  as  when  sink  the  civic  great, 

The  safer  pillars  of  the  State, 

Whose  calm,  mature,  wise  words 
Suppress  the  need  of  swords! 

With  no  such  tears  as  e'er  were  shed 
Above  the  noblest  of  our  dead 

Do  we  today  deplore 

The  man  that  is  no  more. 

Our  sorrow  hath  a  wider  scope, 

Too  strange  for  fear,  too  vast  for  hope, — 
A  wonder,  blind  and  dumb, 
That  waits — what  is  to  come! 


194  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

Not  more  astonished  had  we  been 
If  madness,  that  dark  night,  unseen, 
Had  in  our  chambers  crept, 
And  murdered  while  we  slept! 

We  woke  to  find  a  mourning  earth — 
Our  Lares  shivered  on  the  hearth, — 
To  roof-tree  fallen — all 
That  could  affright,  appall! 

Such  thunderbolts,  in  other  lands, 
Have  smitten  the  rod  from  royal  hands, 
But  spared,  with  us,  till  now, 
Each  laureled  Caesar's  brow. 

No  Caesar  he,  whom  we  lament, 

A  man  without  a  precedent, 
Sent  it  would  seem,  to  do 
His  work — and  perish  too! 

Not  by  the  weary  cares  of  state, 
The  endless  tasks,  which  will  not  wait, 
Which,  often  done  in  vain, 
Must  yet  be  done  again; 

Not  in  the  dark,  wild  tide  of  war, 
Which  rose  so  high,  and  rolled  so  far, 

Sweeping  from  sea  to  sea 

In  awful  anarchy; — 

Four  fateful  years  of  mortal  strife, 
Which  slowly  drained  the  Nation's  life, 
(Yet,  for  each  drop  that  ran 
There  sprang  an  armed  man!) 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  195 

Not  then; — but  when  by  measures  meet — 
By  victory,  and  by  defeat, 

By  courage,  patience,  skill, 

The  people's  fixed  "We  will!" 

Had  pierced,  had  crushed  rebellion  dead — 
Without  a  hand,  without  a  head: — 

At  last,  when  all  was  well, 

He  fell— O,  how  he  fell! 

Tyrants  have  fallen  by  such  as  thou, 
And  good  hath  followed, — may  it  now! 

(God  lets  bad  instruments 

Produce  the  best  events.) 

But  he,  the  man  we  mourn  today, 
No  tyrant  was;   so  mild  a  sway 

In  one  such  weight  who  bore 

Was  never  known  before! 

From  "Poems  of  Richard  Henry  Stoddard" 

Copyright,  1880,  by  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  197 

WALT  WHITMAN,  born  in  West  Hills,  Long 
Island,  New  York,  May  31,  1819.  He  was 
educated  in  the  public  schools  of  Brooklyn  and 
New  York  City.  Learned  the  printing  trade  at  which 
he  worked  during  the  summer  and  taught  school  in 
winter.  He  made  long  pedestrian  tours  through  the 
United  States  and  even  extended  his  tramps  through 
Canada.  His  chief  work,  Leaves  of  Grass,  is  a  series 
of  poems  through  which  he  earned  the  praise  of  some 
and  the  abuse  of  others.  He  visited  the  army  when  a 
brother  was  wounded  and  remained  afterward  as  a 
volunteer  nurse.  Died  1892. 


O  CAPTAIN!    MY  CAPTAIN! 

O  CAPTAIN!   my   Captain!   our   fearful   trip   is 
done ; 
The  ship  has  weather'd  every  wrack,  the  prize 

we  sought  is  won; 

The  port  is  near,  the  bells  I  hear,  the  people  all  ex 
ulting, 

While  follow  eyes  the  steady  keel,  the  vessel  firm  and 
daring; 

But  O  heart!  heart!  heart! 

O  the  bleeding  drops  of  red, 
Wliere  on  the  deck  my  Captain  lies, 

Fallen,  cold  and  dead. 

O  Captain!  my  Captain!  rise  up  and  hear  the  bells; 
Rise  up — for  you  the  flag  is  flung— for  you  the  bugle 

trills; 
For  you  bouquets  and  ribbon'd  wreaths — for  you  the 

shores  a-crowding; 
For  you  they  call,  the  swaying  mass,  their  eager  faces 

turning; 


198  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

Hear,  Captain!  dear  Father! 

This  arm  beneath  your  head; 
It  is  some  dream  that  on  the  deck 

You've  fallen  cold  and  dead. 

My  Captain  does  not  answer,  his  lips  are  pale  and 

still; 
My  Father  does  not  feel  my  arm,  he  has  no  pulse  nor 

will; 
The  ship  is  anchor'd  safe  and  sound,  its  voyage  closed 

and  done; 
From  fearful  trip,  the  victor  ship,  comes  in  with  object 

won; 

Exult,  O  shores,  and  ring,  O  bells! 

But  I,  with  mournful  tread, 
Walk  the  deck  where  my  Captain  lies, 

Fallen,  cold  and  dead. 


STATUE  OF  LINCOLN 

By  Lott  Flannery,  in  front  of  the  Court  House,  Washington 
Unveiled  April  16.  1868 


200  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


HENRY  DE  GARRS,  of  Sheffield,  England,  wrote 
these   lines  on    the    assassination   of    Abraham 
Lincoln  in  1865.     They  were  published  in  Eng 
land  in  1889,  and  later  in  America,  in  the  Century. 


ON  THE  ASSASSINATION  OF  LINCOLN 

WHAT  dreadful  rumor,  hurtling  o'er  the  sea, 
Too  monstrous  for  belief,  assails  our  shore? 
Men  pause  and  question,  Can  such  foul 

crime  be? 

Till  lingering  doubt  may  cling  to  hope  no  more. 
Not  when  great  Caesar  weltered  in  his  gore, 
Nor  since,  in  time,  or  circumstance,  or  place, 
Hath  crime  so  shook  the  World's  great  heart  before. 
O  World!     O  World!  of  all  thy  records  base, 
Time  wears  no  fouler  scar  on  his  time-smitten  face. 

A  king  of  men,  inured  to  hardy  toil, 

Rose  truly  royal  up  the  steeps  of  life, 

Till  Europe's  monarchs  seemed  to  dwarf  the  while 

Beneath  his  greatness — great  when  traitors  rife 

Pierced  deep  his  country's  heart  with  treason-knife; 

But  greatest  when  victorious  he  stood, 

Crowning  with  mercy  freedom's  greatest  strife. 

The  world  saw  the  new  light  of  godlike  good 

Ere  the  assassin's  hand  shed  his  most  precious  blood. 

Lament  thy  loss,  sad  sister  of  the  West: 

Not  one,  but  many  nations  with  thee  weep; 

Cherish  thy  martyr  on  thy  wounded  breast, 

And  lay  him  with  thy  Washington  to  sleep. 

Earth  holds  no  fitter  sepulcher  to  keep 

His  royal  heart — one  of  thy  kings  to  be 

Who  reign  even  from  the  grave;  whose  scepters  sweep 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  201 

More  potent  over  human  destiny 

Than  all  ambition's  pride  and  power  and  majesty. 

Yet,  yet  rejoice  that  thou  hadst  such  a  son; 
The  mother  of  such  a  man  should  never  sigh; 
Could  longer  life  a  nobler  cause  have  won? 
Could  longest  age  more  gloriously  die? 
Oh!  lift  thy  heart,  thy  mind,  thy  soul  on  high 
With  deep  maternal  pride,  that  from  thy  womb 
Came  such  a  son  to  scourge  hell's  foulest  lie 
Out  of  life's  temple.     Watchers  by  his  tomb! 
He  is  not  there,  but  risen:  that  grave  is  slavery's 
doom. 


POETICAL   TRIBUTE    TO  THE   MEMORY  OF 
ABRAHAM    LINCOLN 

By  Emily  J.  Bugbee 

THERE'S  a  burden  of   grief   on  the  breezes   of 
Spring, 
And  a  song  of  regret  from  the  bird  on  its  wing; 
There's  a  pall  on  the  sunshine  and  over  the  flowers, 
And  a  shadow  of  graves  on  these  spirits  of  ours; 
For  a  star  hath  gone  out  from  the  night  of  our  sky, 
On  whose  brightness  we  gazed  as  the  war-cloud  roll'd 

by; 

So  tranquil,  and  steady,  and  clear  were  its  beams, 
That  they  fell  like  a  vision  of  peace  on  our  dreams. 

A  heart  that  we  knew  had  been  true  to  our  weal, 
And  a  hand  that  was  steadily  guiding  the  wheel; 
A  name  never  tarnished  by  falsehood  or  wrong, 
That  had  dwelt  in  our  hearts  like  a  soul-stirring  song. 

*15 


202  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


Ah!  that  pure,  noble  spirit  has  gone  to  its  rest, 
And  the  true  hand  lies  nerveless  and  cold  on  his  breast; 
But  the  name  and  the  memory — these  never  will  die, 
But  grow  brighter  and  dearer  as  ages  go  by. 

Yet  the  tears  of  a  Nation  fall  over  the  dead, 
Such  tears  as  a  Nation  before  never  shed; 
For  our  cherished  one  fell  by  a  dastardly  hand, 
A  martyr  to  truth  and  the  cause  of  the  land; 
And  a  sorrow  has  surged,  like  the  waves  to  the  shore, 
When  the  breath  of  the  tempest  is  sweeping  them  o'er, 
And  the  heads  of  the  lofty  and  lowly  have  bowed, 
As  the  shaft  of  the  lightning  sped  out  from  the  cloud. 

Not  gathered,  like  Washington,  home  to  his  rest, 
When  the  sun  of  his  life  was  far  down  in  the  West; 
But  stricken  from  earth  in  the  midst  of  his  years, 
With  the  Canaan  in  view,  of  his  prayers  and  his  tears. 
And  the  people,  whose  hearts  in  the  wilderness  failed, 
Sometimes,  when  the  star  of  their  promise  had  paJed, 
Now,  stand  by  his  side  on  the  mount  of  his  fame, 
And  yield  him  their  hearts  in  a  grateful  acclaim. 


STATUE  OF  LINCOLN 
Muskegon,  Michigan,  Charles  Niehaus,  sculptor 


204  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


JOHN  NICHOL,  born  at  Montrose,  Forfarshire, 
Scotland,  September  8,  1833.  He  was  a  professor 
of  English  Literature  at  the  University  of  Glasgow 
(1861-1889),  and  did  much  to  make  American  books 
popular  in  England.  His  numerous  publications  in 
clude:  Leaves  (1854),  verse;  Tables  of  European  His 
tory,  200-1876  A.  D.  (1876);  fourth  edition  (1888); 
Byron  in  English  Men  of  Letters  series;  American 
Literature,  1520-1880  (1882).  He  was  an  ardent  ad 
vocate  of  the  Northern  cause  during  the  Civil  War, 
and  visited  the  United  States  at  the  close  of  the  con 
flict.  He  died  at  London,  England,  October  11,  1894. 


LINCOLN,  1865 

AN  end  at  last!     The  echoes  of  the  war — 
A%       The  weary  war  beyond  the  Western  waves — 
•*•  Die  in  the  distance.     Freedom's  rising  star 

Beacons  above  a  hundred  thousand  graves; 

The  graves  of  heroes  who  have  won  the  fight, 
Who  in  the  storming  of  the  stubborn  town 

Have  rung  the  marriage  peal  of  might  and  right, 
And  scaled  the  cliffs  and  cast  the  dragon  down. 

Pseans  of  armies  thrill  across  the  sea, 

Till  Europe  answers — "Let  the  struggle  cease. 

The  bloody  page  is  turned;   the  next  may  be 
For  ways  of  pleasantness  and  paths  of  peace!" 

A  golden  morn — a  dawn  of  better  things — 
The  olive-branch — clasping  of  hands  again — 

A  noble  lesson  read  to  conquered  kings — 
A  sky  that  tempests  had  not  scoured  in  vain. 

This  from  America  we  hoped  and  him 

Who  ruled  her  "in  the  spirit  of  his  creed." 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  205 


Does  the  hope  last  when  all  our  eyes  are  dim, 
As  history  records  her  darkest  deed? 

The  pilot  of  his  people  through  the  strife, 

With  his  strong  purpose  turning  scorn  to  praise, 

E'en  at  the  close  of  battle  reft  of  life 
And  fair  inheritance  of  quiet  days. 

Defeat  and  triumph  found  him  calm  aud  just, 
He  showed  how  clemency  should  temper  power, 

And,  dying,  left  to  future  times  in  trust 
The  memory  of  his  brief  victorious  hour. 

O'ermastered  by  the  irony  of  fate, 

The  last  and  greatest  martyr  of  his  cause; 

Slain  like  Achilles  at  the  Scsean  gate, 

He  saw  the  end,  and  fixed  "the  purer  laws." 

May  these  endure  and,  as  his  work,  attest 
The  glory  of  his  honest  heart  and  hand — 

The  simplest,  and  the  bravest,  and  the  best— 
The  Moses  and  the  Cromwell  of  his  land. 

Too  late  the  pioneers  of  modern  spite, 
Awe-stricken  by  the  universal  gloom, 

See  his  name  lustrous  in  Death's  sable  night, 
And  offer  tardy  tribute  at  his  tomb. 

But  we  who  have  been  with  him  all  the  while, 
Who  knew  his  worth,  and  loved  him  long  ago, 

Rejoice  that  in  the  circuit  of  our  isle 

There  is  at  last  no  room  for  Lincoln's  foe. 


LINCOLN  AND  CABINET 

"The  First  Reading  of  the  Emancipation  Proclamation." 

Painted  by  Frank  B.  Carpenter. 

From  left  to  right — Edwin  M.  Stanton,  Secretary  of  War;  Salmon  P.  Chase, 
Secretary  of  the  Treasury;  President  Lincoln;  Gideon  Welles,  Secretary  of  the 
Navy;  William  H.  Seward,  Secretary  of  State;  J.  P.  Usher,  Secretary  of  the 
Interior;  Montgomery  Blair,  Postmaster-General;  Edward  Bates,  Attorney-General 


/CHRISTOPHER  PEARSE  CRANCH,  born  in 
Alexandria,  Virginia,  March  8,  1813.  Graduated 
at  the  school  of  Divinity,  Cambridge,  Massa 
chusetts,  in  1835,  but  retired  from  the  ministry  in  1842 
to  devote  himself  to  art.  He  studied  in  Italy  in  1846-8, 
and  lived  and  painted  in  1853-63,  and,  returning  to 
New  York,  was  elected  a  member  of  the  National 
Academy  in  1864.  He  was  a  graceful  writer  of  both 
prose  and  verse. 


206 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  207 


LINCOLN 

BUT  yesterday — the  exulting  nation's  shout 
Swelled  on  the  breeze  of  victory  through  our 
streets, 
But  yesterday — our  banners  flaunted  out 

Like  flowers  the  south  wind  woos  from  their  retreats; 
Flowers  of  the  nation,  blue,  and  white,  and  red, 

Waving  from  balcony,  and  spire,  and  mast; 
Which  told  us  that  war's  wintry  storm  had  fled, 
And  spring  was  more  than  spring  to  us  at  last. 

Today  the  nation's  heart  lies  crushed  and  weak; 

Drooping  and  draped  in  black  our  banners  stand. 
Too  stunned  to  cry  revenge,  we  scarce  may  speak 

The  grief  that  chokes  all  utterance  through  the  land. 
God  is  in  all.     With  tears  our  eyes  are  dim, 

Yet  strive  through  darkness  to  look  to  Him! 

No,  not  in  vain  he  died — not  all  in  vain, 

Our  good,  great  President!     This  people's  hands 
Are  linked  together  in  one  mighty  chain 

Drawn  tighter  still  in  triple-woven  bands 
To  crush  the  fiends  in  human  masks,  whose  might 

We  suffer,  oh,  too  long!    No  league,  nor  truce 
Save  men  with  men!    The  devils  we  must  fight 

With  fire!     God  wills  it  in  this  deed.     This  use 
We  draw  from  the  most  impious  murder  done 

Since  Calvary.     Rise  then,  O  Countrymen! 
Scatter  these  marsh-lights  hopes  of  Union  won 

Through  pardoning  clemency.     Strike,  strike  again! 
Draw  closer  round  the  foe  a  girdling  flame. 

We  are  stabbed  whene'er  we  spare — strike  in  God's 
name! 


STATUE  OF  LINCOLN 

Fairmount  Park,  Philadelphia,  Pennsylvania.    Randolph  Rogers, 
sculptor.     Unveiled  November  26,  1869 

f^EORGE  HENRY  BOKER,  born  in  Philadelphia, 
VJ  Pennsylvania,  on  the  6th  day  of  October,  1823. 
Graduated  at  Princeton  in  1842,  and  afterward 
studied  law.  In  the  year  1847,  after  his  return  from  an 
extended  tour  in  Europe,  he  published  The  Lessons  of 
Life  and  Other  Poems.  He  also  produced  a  number  of 
plays  which  were  successfully  produced  upon  the  stage, 
both  in  England  and  America.  During  the  War  of  the 
Rebellion  he  wrote  a  number  of  patriotic  lyrics,  col 
lected  and  published  in  a  volume  under  the  title  of 
Poems  of  the  War.  He  has  also  written  other  poems 
and  articles  in  prose  which  have  received  high  praise. 
^  In  the  year  1871  he  was  appointed  by  President 
Grant  as  our  United  States  Minister  to  Turkey,  but 
in  1875  was  transferred  to  the  more  important  Mission 
of  Russia. 

208 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  209 

LINCOLN 

CROWN  we  our  heroes  with  a  holier  wreath 
Than  man  e'er  wore  upon  this  side  of  death; 
Mix  with  their  laurels  deathless  asphodels, 
And  chime  their  paeans  from  the  sacred  bells! 
Nor  in  your  praises  forget  the  martyred  Chief, 
Fallen  for  the  gospel  of  your  own  belief, 
Who,  ere  he  mounted  to  the  people's  throne, 
Asked  for  your  prayers,  and  joined  in  them  his  own. 
I  knew  the  man.     I  see  him,  as  he  stands 
With  gifts  of  mercy  in  his  outstretched  hands; 
A  kindly  light  within  his  gentle  eyes, 
Sad  as  the  toil  in  which  his  heart  grew  wise; 
His  lips  half  parted  with  the  constant  smile 
That  kindled  truth,  but  foiled  the  deepest  guile; 
His  head  bent  forward,  and  his  willing  ear 
Divinely  patient  right  and  wrong  to  hear: 
Great  in  his  goodness,  humble  in  his  state, 
Firm  in  his  purpose,  yet  not  passionate, 
He  led  his  people  with  a  tender  hand, 
And  won  by  love  a  sway  beyond  command. 
Summoned  by  lot  to  mitigate  a  time 
Frenzied  with  rage,  unscrupulous  with  crime, 
He  bore  his  mission  with  so  meek  a  heart 
That  Heaven  itself  took  up  his  people's  part; 
And  when  he  faltered,  helped  him  ere  he  fell, 
Eking  his  efforts  out  by  miracle. 
No  king  this  man,  by  grace  of  God's  intent; 
No,  something  better,  freeman, — President! 
A  nature  modeled  on  a  higher  plan, 
Lord  of  himself,  an  inborn  gentleman! 


210 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 
Photo  by  Brady,  1864 


PHOEBE  GARY  was  born  near  Cincinnati,  Ohio, 
September  24, 1824.  Her  advantages  for  education 
were  somewhat  better  than  those  of  her  sister  Alice, 
whose  almost  inseparable  companion  she  became  at 
an  early  age.  They  were  quite  different,  however, 
in  temperament,  in  person  and  in  mental  constitution. 
Phoebe  began  to  write  verse  at  the  age  of  seventeen 
years,  and  one  of  her  earliest  poems,  Nearer  Home, 
beginning  with  "One  sweetly  solemn  thought,"  won  her 
a  world- wide  reputation.  In  the  joint  housekeeping  in 
New  York  she  took  from  choice  (Alice  being  for  many 
years  an  invalid)  the  larger  share  of  duties  upon  herself, 
and  hence  found  little  opportunity  for  literary  work. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  211 

In  society,  however,  she  was  brilliant,  but  at  all  times 
kindly.  She  wrote  a  touching  tribute  to  her  sister's 
memory,  published  in  the  Ladies'  Repository  a  few  days 
before  her  own  death,  which  occurred  at  Newport,  R.  L, 
July  31,  1871.  In  the  volume  of  Poems  of  Alice  and 
Phoebe  Gary  (Philadelphia,  1850)  but  about  one-third 
were  written  by  Phoebe.  Her  independently  published 
books  are  Poems  and  Parodies  (1854),  and  Poems  of 
Faith,  Hope  and  Love  (1868). 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

OUR  sun  hath  gone  down  at  the  noonday, 
The  heavens  are  black; 
And  over  the  morning  the  shadows 
Of  night-time  are  back. 

Stop  the  proud  boasting  mouth  of  the  cannon, 

Hush  the  mirth  and  the  shout; 
God  is  God!  and  the  ways  of  Jehovah 

Are  past  finding  out. 

Lo!  the  beautiful  feet  on  the  mountains, 

That  yesterday  stood; 
The  white  feet  that  came  with  glad  tidings 

Are  dabbled  in  blood. 

The  Nation  that  firmly  was  settling 

The  crown  on  her  head, 
Sits,  like  Rizpah,  in  sackcloth  and  ashes, 

And  watches  her  dead. 

Who  is  dead?  who,  unmoved  by  our  wailing 

Is  lying  so  low? 
O,  my  Land,  stricken  dumb  in  your  anguish, 

Do  you  feel,  do  you  know? 


212  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

Once  this  good  man  we  mourn,  overwearied, 

Worn,  anxious,  oppressed, 
Was  going  out  from  his  audience  chamber 

For  a  season  to  rest; 

Unheeding  the  thousands  who  waited 

To  honor  and  greet, 
When  the  cry  of  a  child  smote  upon  him 

And  turned  back  his  feet. 

"Three  days  hath  a  woman  been  waiting," 

Said  they,  "patient  and  meek." 
And  he  answered,  "Whatever  her  errand, 

Let  me  hear;   let  her  speak!" 

So  she  came,  and  stood  trembling  before  him 

And   pleaded   her   cause; 
Told  him  all;   how  her  child's  erring  father 

Had  broken  the  laws. 

Humbly  spake  she:    "I  mourn  for  his  folly, 

His  weakness,  his  fall"; 
Proudly  spake  she:    "he  is  not  a  TRAITOR, 

And  I  love  him  through  all!" 

Then  the  great  man,  whose  heart  had  been  shaken 

By  a  little  babe's  cry; 
Answered  soft,  taking  counsel  of  mercy, 

"This  man  shall  not  die!" 

Why,  he  heard  from  the  dungeons,  the  rice-fields, 

The  dark  holds  of  ships; 
Every  faint,  feeble  cry  which  oppression 

Smothered  down  on  men's  lips. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  213 


In  her  furnace,  the  centuries  had  welded 

Their  fetter  and  chain; 
And  like  withes,  in  the  hands  of  his  purpose, 

He  snapped  them  in  twain. 

Who  can  be  what  he  was  to  the  people; 

What  he  was  to  the  State? 
Shall  the  ages  bring  to  us  another 

As  good  and  as  great? 

Our  hearts  with  their  anguish  are  broken, 

Our  wet  eyes  are  dim; 
For  us  is  the  loss  and  the  sorrow, 

The  triumph  for  him! 

For,  ere  this,  face  to  face  with  his  Father 

Our  Martyr  hath  stood; 
Giving  into  his  hand  the  white  record 

With  its  great  seal  of  blood! 

That  the  hand  which  reached  out  of  the  darkness 

Hath  taken  the  whole? 
Yea,  the  arm  and  the  head  of  the  people — 

The  heart  and  the  soul! 

And  that  heart,  o'er  whose  dread  awful  silence 

A  nation  has  wept; 
Was  the  truest,  and  gentlest,  and  sweetest 

A  man  ever  kept! 


STATUE  OF  LINCOLN 
By  Augustus  Saint  Gaudens,  in  Lincoln  Park,  Chicago,  Illinois 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  215 


ON  the  22nd  of  October,  1887,  this  statue  by  Saint 
Gaudens  was  unveiled,  Mr.  Eli  Bates  donating 
$40,000  for  that  purpose.  There  is  a  vast  oval 
of  cut  stone,  thirty  by  sixty  feet,  the  interior  fashioned 
to  form  a  classic  bench,  and  the  statue  stands  on  a 
stone  pedestal.  The  sculptor  represents  him  as  an 
orator,  just  risen  from  his  chair,  which  is  shown  behind 
him,  and  waiting  for  the  audience  to  become  quiet  be 
fore  beginning  his  speech.  The  attitude  is  that  always 
assumed  by  Lincoln  at  the  beginning — one  hand  be 
hind  him,  and  the  other  grasping  the  lapel  of  his  coat. 
He  appears  the  very  incarnation  of  rugged  grandeur 
which  held  the  master  mind  of  this  age. 


/CHARLES  GRAHAM  HALPIN  (Miles  O'Reilly) 
\^_S  was  born  near  Oldcastle,  County  of  Meath,  Ire 
land,  November  20,  1829.  Graduated  from  Trin 
ity  College,  Dublin,  in  1846.  He  entered  the  field  of 
journalism  as  a  profession  and  soon  gained  a  reputation 
in  England.  Came  to  New  York  in  1852  and  secured 
employment  with  the  Herald,  was  later  connected  with 
other  papers.  Enlisted  in  April,  1861,  and  became 
lieutenant  of  Colonel  Corcoran's  69th  Regiment,  rising 
to  the  rank  of  brigadier-general.  He  died  in  New  York 
City,  August  3,  1868. 


216  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

LINCOLN 

WE  filled  the  Nation's  eyes  and  heart, 
An  honored,  loved,  familiar  name; 
So  much  a  brother  that  his  fame 
Seemed  of  our  lives  a  common  part. 

His  towering  figure,  sharp  and  spare, 
Was  with  such  nervous  tension  strung, 
As  if  on  each  strained  sinew  swung 

The  burden  of  a  people's  care. 

His  changing  face,  what  pen  can  draw- 
Pathetic  kindly,  droll  or  stern; 
And  with  a  glance  so  quick  to  learn 

The  inmost  truth  of  all  he  saw. 

Pride  found  no  place  to  spawn 

Her  fancies  in  his  busy  mind. 

His  worth,  like  health  or  air,  could  find 
No  just  appraisal  till  withdrawn. 

He  was  his  country's — not  his  own; 
He  had  no  wish  but  for  the  weak, 
Nor  for  himself  could  think  or  feel, 

But  as  a  laborer  for  her  throne. 

Her  flag  upon  the  heights  of  power — 
Stainless  and  unassayed  to  place, 
To  this  one  end  his  earnest  face 

Was  bent  through  every  burdened  hour. 

But  done  the  battle — won  the  strife; 
When  torches  light  his  vaulted  tomb, 
Broad  gems  flash  out  and  crowns  illume 

The  clay-cold  brow  undecked  in  life. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  217 


O,  loved  and  lost!     Thy  patient  toil 
Had  robed  our  cause  in  victory's  light; 
Our  country  stood  redeemed  and  bright, 

With  not  a  slave  on  all  her  soil. 

'Mid  peals  of  bells  and  cannon's  bark, 
And  shouting  streets  with  flags  abloom, 
Sped  the  shrill  arrow  of  thy  doom, 

And,  in  an  instant,  all  was  dark! 

A  martyr  to  the  cause  of  man, 
His  blood  is  Freedom's  Eucharist, 
And  in  the  world's  great  hero  list 

His  name  shall  lead  the  van. 

Yes!  ranked  on  Faith's  white  wings  unfurled 
In  Heaven's  pure  light,  of  him  we  say, 
"He  fell  on  the  self -same  day 

A  Greater  died  to  save  the  world." 


*16 


: Presented  by  wn.    H.   Thomas,   of  Poet  No.    2,0. 4. R. ,Philfli«lphia,    Department: 
•of  Pennsylvania,   who  was  instrumental  in  having  this  Tablet  pieced  in         ; 
•  front  of  Independence  Hall.        The  flowers  shown  in  the  photograph  were 
'Placed  in  their  position  about  the  Tablet  on  the  centenary  of  Lincoln's     '• 
'•  Birth,    rebruo-mr  12.1909 


TABLET  AT  PHILADELPHIA 
Unveiled  February  21,  1903 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  219 


HE  who  seeks  the  embodiment  of  the  genius  of  the 
Union  finds  it  in  the  apotheosis  of  the  Great  Eman 
cipator.    There,  under  the  arching  skies  he  stands, 
erect,  serene,  resplendent;   beneath  his  feet  the  broken 
shackles  of  a  race  redeemed;  upon  his  brow  the  diadem 
of  liberty  with  law,  while  around  and  behind  him  rise 
up,  as  an  eternal  guard  of  honor,  the  great  army  of  the 
Republic. 

In  the  belief  that  from  the  martyr's  bier  as  from  the 
battlefield  of  right  it  is  but  one  step  to  paradise*  may 
we  not,  on  days  like  this,  draw  back  the  veil  that 
separates  from  our  mortal  gaze  the  phantom  squadrons 
as  they  pass  again  in  grand  review  before  their  "Martyr 
President." — From  an  address  by  Hiram  F.  Stevens, 
read  before  the  Minnesota  Commandery  of  the  Loyal 
Legion. 


THE  MARTYR  PRESIDENT 

IN  solid  platoons  of  steel, 
Under  heaven's  triumphant  arch, 
The  long  lines  break  and  wheel, 

And  the  order  is  "Forward,  March!" 
The  colors  ripple  o'erhead, 

The  drums  roll  up  to  the  sky, 
And  writh  martial  time  and  tread 

The  regiments  all  pass  by — 
The  ranks  of  the  faithful  dead 

Meeting  their  president's  eye. 
March  on,  your  last  brave  mile! 

Salute  him,  star  and  lace! 
Form  'round  him,  rank  and  file, 

And  look  on  the  kind,  rough  face. 
But  the  quaint  and  homely  smile 

Has  a  glory  and  a  grace 
It  has  never  known  erstwhile, 

Never  in  time  or  space. 
Close  'round  him,  hearts  of  pride! 


220  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


Press  near  him,  side  by  side! 

For  he  stands  there  not  alone. 
For  the  holy  right  he  died, 
And  Christ,  the  crucified, 

Waits  to  welcome  his  own. 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

Written  for  the  Lincoln  Memorial  Album,  by  Eugene 
J.  Hall,  1882. 


O 


HONORED  name,  revered  and  undecaying, 
Engraven  on  each  heart,  O  soul  sublime! 
That,  like  a  planet  through  the  heavens  stray 
ing, 
Outlives  the  wreck  of  time! 


O  rough,  strong  soul,  your  noble  self-possession 
Is  unforgotten.     Still  your  work  remains. 

You  freed  from  bondage  and  from  vile  oppression 
A  race  in  clanking  chains. 

O  furrowed  face,  beloved  by  all  the  nation! 

O  tall  gaunt  form,  to  memory  fondly  dear! 
O  firm,  bold  hand,  our  strength  and  our  salvation! 

O  heart  that  knew  no  fear! 

Lincoln,  your  manhood  shall  survive  forever, 
Shedding  a  fadeless  halo  round  your  name; 

Urging  men  on,  with  wise  and  strong  endeavor, 
To  bright  and  honest  fame! 

Through  years  of  care,  to  rest  and  joy  a  stranger, 
You  saw  complete  the  work  you  had  begun, 

Thoughtless  of  threats,  nor  heeding  death  or  danger, 
You  toiled  till  all  was  done. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  221 


You  freed  the  bondman  from  his  iron  master, 
You  broke  the  strong  and  cruel  chains  he  wore, 

You  saved  the  Ship  of  State  from  foul  disaster 
And  brought  her  safe  to  shore. 

You  fell!    An  anxious  nation's  hopes  seemed  blighted, 
While  millions  shuddered  at  your  dreadful  fall; 

But  God  is  good!    His  wondrous  hand  has  righted 
And  reunited  all. 

You  fell,  but  in  your  death  you  were  victorious; 

To  moulder  in  the  tomb  your  form  has  gone, 
While  through  the  world  your  great  soul  grows  more 
glorious 

As  years  go  gliding  on! 

All  hail,  great  Chieftain!     Long  will  sweetly  cluster 
A  thousand  memories  round  your  sacred  name, 

Nor  time,  nor  death  shall  dim  the  spotless  luster 
That  shines  upon  your  fame. 


222 


THE  POETS' 


STATUE  OF  LINCOLN 
By  Vinnie  Ream,  rotunda  of  the  Capitol,  Washington,  D.  C. 


SAMUEL  FRANCIS  SMITH,  clergyman,  born  in 
Boston.,  Massachusetts,  October  21,  1808.  At 
tended  the  Boston  Latin  School  in  1820-5,  and  was 
graduated  at  Harvard  in  1829  and  at  Andover  Theo 
logical  Seminary  in  1832.  Was  ordained  to  the  ministry 
of  the  Baptist  Church  at  Waterville,  Maine,  in  1834, 
where  he  occupied  pastorates  from  1834  until  1842, 
and  at  Newton,  Massachusetts,  1842  to  1854.  Was 
professor  of  languages  in  Waterville  College  while 
residing  in  that  city,  and  there  he  also  received  the  de 
gree  of  D.D.  in  1854. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  223 

He  has  done  a  large  amount  of  literary  work,  mainly 
in  the  line  of  hymnology,  his  most  popular  composition 
being  our  national  hymn,  My  Country,  'Tis  of  Thee, 
which  was  written  while  he  was  a  theological  student, 
and  first  sung  at  a  children's  celebration  in  the  Park 
Street  Church,  Boston,  July  4,  1832.  The  Morning 
Light  is  Breaking,  was  also  written  at  the  same  place 
and  time.  His  classmate,  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  in 
his  reunion  poem  entitled  The  Boys,  thus  refers  to  him : 

"And  there's  a  nice  youngster  of  excellent  pith; 
Fate  tried  to  conceal  him  by  naming  him  Smith! 
But  he  chanted  a  song  for  the  brave  and  the  free — 
Just  read  on  his  medal,  'My  Country,  of  Thee!' " 

The  following  poem  was  written  expressly  for  the  exercises  held  on  the 
Nineteenth  Anniversary  of  President  Lincoln's  death,  at  his  tomb,  Springfield, 
Illinois,  April  15,  1884. 


THE  TOMB  OF  LINCOLN 

GRANDEUR  and  glory  await  around  the  bed 
Where   sleeps   in   lowly   peace   the   illustrious 
dead; 

He  rose  a  meteor,  upon  wondering  men, 
But  rose  in  strength,  never  to  set  again. 
A  king  of  men,  though  born  in  lowly  state, 
A  man  sincerely  good  and  nobly  great; 
Tender,  but  firm;    faithful  and  kind,  and  true, 
The  Nation's  choice,  the  Nation's  Saviour,  too; 
When  Liberty  and  Truth  shall  reign  for  evermore, 
From  Oregon  to  Florida's  perpetual  May, 
From  Shasta's  awful  peak  to  Massachusetts  Bay, — 
Then  our  children's  children,  by  the  cottage  door, 
In  the  schoolroom,  from  the  pulpit,  at  the  bar, 
Shall  look  up  to  thee  as  to  a  beacon  star, 
And  deduce  the  lesson  from  thy  life  and  death, 
That  the  patriot's  lofty  courage  and  the  Christian's 
faith 


224  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


Conquer  honors  that  outweigh  ambition's  gaudiest 
prize, 

Triumph  o'er  the  grave,  and  open  the  gates  of  Para 
dise. 

Schooled  through  life's  early  hardships  to  endure, 
To  raise  the  oppressed,  to  save  and  shield  the  poor; 
Prudent  in  counsel,  honest  in  debate, 
Patient  to  hear  and  judge,  patient  to  wait; 
The  calm,  the  wise,  the  witty  and  the  proved, 
Whom  millions  honored,  and  whom  millions  loved; 
Swayed  by  no  baleful  lust  of  pride  or  power, 
The  shining  pageants  of  the  passing  hour, 

Led  by  no  scheming  arts,  no  selfish  aim, 

Ambitious  for  no  pomp,  nor  wealth,  nor  fame, 

No  planning  hypocrite,  no  pliant  tool, 

A  high-born  patriot,  of  Heaven's  noblest  school; 

Cool  and  unshaken  in  the  maddest  storm, 

For  in  the  clouds  he  traced  the  Almighty's  form; 

Worn  with  the  weary  heart  and  aching  head, 

Worse  than  the  picket,  with  his  ceaseless  tread, 

He  kept — as  bound  by  some  resistless  fate — 
His  broad,  strong  hand  upon  the  helm  of  State; 
Nor  turned,  in  fear,  his  heart  or  hope  away, 
Till  on  the  field  his  tent  a  ruin  lay. 
His  tent,  a  ruin;  but  the  owner's  name 
Stands  on  the  pinnacle  of  human  fame, 
Inscribed  in  lines  of  light,  and  nations  see, 
Through  him,  the  people's  life  and  liberty. 

What  high  ideas,  what  noble  acts  he  taught! 
To  make  men  free  in  life,  and  limb,  and  thought, 
To  rise,  to  soar,  to  scorn  the  oppressor's  rod, 
To  live  in  grander  life,  to  live  for  God; 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  225 


To  stand  for  justice,  freedom  and  the  right, 
To  dare  the  conflict,  strong  in  God's  own  might; 
The  methods  taught  by  Him,  by  him  were  tried, 
And  he,  to  conscience  true,  a  martyr  died. 

As  the  great  sun  pursues  his  heavenly  way 
And  fills  with  life  and  joy  the  livelong  day, 
Till,  the  full  journey,  in  glory  dressed, 
He  seeks  his  crimson  couch  beneath  the  west; 
So,  with  his  labor  done,  our  hero  sleeps; 
Above  his  tomb  a  ransomed  Nation  weeps; 
And  grateful  pseans  o'er  his  ashes  rise — 
Dear  is  his  fame — his  glory  never  dies. 

Bring  flowers,  fresh  flowers,  bring  plumes  with  nod 
ding  crests, 

To  wreath  the  tomb  where  our  great  hero  rests; 
Bring  pipe  and  tabret,  eloquence  and  song, 
And  sound  the  loving  tribute,  loud  and  long; 
A  Nation  bows,  and  mourns  his  honored  name, 
A  Nation  proudly  keeps  his  deathless  fame; 
Let  vale  and  rock,  and  hill,  and  land,  and  sea 
His  memory  swell — the  anthem  of  the  free. 


STATUE  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

On  the  State  Capitol  Grounds  at  Lincoln,  Nebraska.     Unveiled  September  2,  1912. 
Daniel  Chester  French,  sculptor 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  227 


JOHN  TOWNSEND  TROWBRIDGE,  born  Sep 
tember  18,  1827,  in  Ogden,  New  York.  He  lived 
the  ordinary  life  of  a  country  boy,  going  to  school 
six  months  in  the  year  till  he  was  fourteen,  after  which 
he  had  to  work  on  the  farm  in  summer.  His  books  had 
more  interest  to  him  than  his  work,  and  he  managed 
to  learn  more  out  of  school  than  in  it.  At  sixteen  he 
wrote  articles  in  verse  and  prose  for  magazines  and 
journals.  He  was  a  contributor  to  the  Atlantic  Monthly. 
During  the  great  rebellion,  he  wrote  several  stories 
of  the  war:  The  Drummer  Boy,  1863,  and  The  Three 
Scouts,  1865.  On  the  return  of  peace  he  spent  some 
four  months  in  the  principal  southern  States,  for  the 
purpose  of  gaining  accurate  views  of  the  condition  of 
society  there  after  the  war.  He  published  the  result 
of  these  observations  June,  1866,  in  a  volume  entitled, 
The  South.  A  collected  edition  of  his  poems  was  pub 
lished  in  1869,  entitled  The  Vagabonds,  and  Other 
Poems. 


LINCOLN 

EROIC  soul,  in  homely  garb  half  hid, 

Sincere,  sagacious,  melancholy,  quaint; 
What  he  endured,  no  less  than  what  he  did, 
Has  reared  his  monument,  and  crowned  him  saint. 


H 


STATUE  OF  LINCOLN 

Burlington,  Wisconsin.     George  E.  Ganiere,  sculptor 
Unveiled  October  13,  1913 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  229 


KINAHAN  CORNWALLIS  was  born  in  London, 
England,  December  24,  1839.  Entered  British 
Colonial  Civil  Service;  two  years  at  Melbourne, 
Australia.  Located  in  New  York  in  1860,  one  of  the 
editors  and  correspondent  of  the  Herald.  Accompanied 
the  Prince  of  Wales  on  his  American  tour.  Admitted 
to  the  New  York  bar  in  1863;  financial  editor  and 
general  editorial  writer  of  New  York  Herald,  1860-69. 
Editor  and  proprietor  of  The  Knickerbocker  Magazine, 
afterward  of  The  Albion.  Since  1886  editor  and  pro 
prietor  Wall  Street  Daily  Investigator,  now  Wall  Street 
Daily  Investor.  Author  of  Howard  Plunkett  (a  novel) ; 
an  Australian  poem,  1857.  The  New  Eldorado,  or 
British  Columbia  (Travels);  Two  Journeys  to  Japan; 
A  Panorama  of  the  New  World;  Wreck  and  Ruin,  or 
Modern  Society  (novel);  My  Life  and  Adventures 
(story),  1859,  also  of  many  other  histories  and  novels. 
Among  his  poet  productions  are  The  Song  of  America 
and  Columbus,  1892;  The  Conquest  of  Mexico  and 
Peru,  1893;  The  War  for  the  Union,  or  the  Duel  Be 
tween  North  and  South,  1899. 


HOMAGE  DUE  TO  LINCOLN 

WELL  may  we  all  to  Lincoln  homage  pay, 
For  patriotic  duty  points  the  way, 
And  tells  the  story  of  the  debt  we  owe — 
A  debt  of  gratitude  that  all  should  know; 
And  ne'er  will  perish  that  historic  tale. 
To  him,  the  Union's  great  defender,  hail! 
Through  battling  years  he  steered  the  ship  of  state, 
And  ever  proved  a  captain  just  and  great. 
Through  storm  and  tempest,  and  unnumbered  woes, 
While  oft  assailed  in  fury  by  his  foes, 
He  held  his  course,  and  triumphed  over  all, 
Responding  ever  to  his  country's  call; 
And  more  divine  than  human  seemed  the  deed 
When  he  the  slave  from  hellish  bondage  freed, 


230  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


And  from  the  South  its  human  chattels  tore. 

'Twas  his  to  Man  his  manhood  to  restore. 

That  righteous  action  sealed  rebellion's  doom, 

And  paved  secession's  pathway  to  the  tomb. 

But,  lo!  when  Peace  with  Union  glory,  came, 

And  all  the  country  rang  with  his  acclaim — 

A  reunited  country,  great  and  strong — 

A  foul  assassin  marked  him  for  his  prey; 

A  bullet  sped,  and  Lincoln  dying  lay. 

Alas!    Alas!  that  he  should  thus  have  died — 

His  country's  leader,  and  his  country's  pride! 

No  deed  more  infamous  than  this — 

No  fate  more  cruel  and  unjust  than  his — 

Can  in  the  annals  of  the  world  be  found. 

The  Nation  shuddered  in  its  grief  profound, 

And  mourning  emblems  draped  the  country  o'er 

Alas!     Alas!  its  leader  was  no  more! 

But  still  he  lives  in  his  immortal  fame, 

And  evermore  will  Glory  gild  his  name, 

And  keep  his  memory  in  eternal  view, 

And  o'er  his  grave  unfading  garlands  strew. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


231 


STATUE  OF  LINCOLN 
At  Edinburgh,  Scotland,  George  E.  Bissell,  sculptor 


IT  is  within  an  inclosed  cemetery,  known  as  the 
Calton  burying  ground,  which  is  separated  from 
the  Calton  Hill  by  a  wide  thoroughfare.  The 
statue  is  the  work  of  an  American  sculptor,  George 
E.  Bissell.  It  is  a  fine  bronze  figure,  and  rests  on  a 
massive  granite  pedestal.  The  figure  at  the  base  is 
that  of  a  freed  negro  holding  up  a  wreath.  On  one 
face  of  the  pedestal  are  Lincoln's  words,  "To  preserve 
the  jewel  of  liberty  in  the  framework  of  freedom." 
The  statue  is  a  memorial  not  alone  to  Lincoln;  the 
legend  on  the  pedestal  tells  that  this  plot  of  ground  was 


232  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


given  by  the  lord  provost  and  town  council  of  Edin 
burgh  to  Wallace  Bruce,  United  States  Consul,  and 
dedicated  as  a  burial  place  for  Scottish  soldiers  of  the 
American  Civil  War,  1861-65.  Cut  in  the  granite  are 
the  names  and  records  of  Scots  who  fought  to  preserve 
the  Union,  and  who  have  found  their  last  resting  place 
in  this  old  burying  ground  at  the  Scottish  capital. 


DAVID    K.    WATSON    was    born   near   London, 
Madison  County,  Ohio,  June  18,  1849.     Moved 
to  Columbus,  Ohio,  in  1875,  where  he  now  resides. 
Was  Assistant  United  States  District  Attorney  for  the 
Southern  District  of  Ohio  from  1881  to  1885.    Elected 
Attorney-General  of  Ohio  in  1887  and  re-elected  in 
1889.      Member  of  the  fifty-fourth   Congress.     Was 
member   of   the   Commission   to   revise   the   Federal 
Statutes.    Author  of  History  of  American  Coinage  and 
Watson  on  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States. 


THE  SCOTLAND  STATUE 

O  SCOTLAND!     It  was  a  gracious   act  in  thee 
To  build  a  monument  beside  the  sea 
To  Lincoln,  who  wrote  the  word, 
And  slavery's  shackles  fell 
From  off  a  race 
Which  ne'er  before  could  tell 
What  freedom  was. 

To  Lincoln,  whose  soul  was  great  enough  to  know 
That  beings  born  in  likeness  of  their  God 
Were  meant  to  live  as  freemen, 
Not  as  slaves,  and  ruled  by  slavery's  rod. 
To  Lincoln,  who  more  than  any  of  his  race 
Uplifted  men  and  women  to  the  place 
God  made  for  them. 
To  Lincoln,  who  never  saw  your  land, 
And  in  whose  veins  no  Scottish  blood  had  run; 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  233 

But  yet,  because  of  deeds  which  he  had  done, 

His  mighty  name 

Had  filled  the  world  with  fame 

And  taught  the  people  of  each  land 

That  in  God's  hand 

Is  held  the  destiny  of  races  and  of  man. 

Immortal  patriot!  through  the  mist  of  years 

That  in  the  future  are  to  come, — 

When  we  who  saw  thee  here  are  gone, — 

We  view  thy  heaven-aspiring  tomb 

Illumined  by  the  roseate  dawn 

Of  the  millennial  day, 

When  Peace  shall  hold  her  sway, 

And  bring  Saturnian  eras;  when  the  roar 

(V  the  battle's  thunder  shall  be  heard  no  more. 


*17 


234 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


STATUE  OF  LINCOLN 
At  Newark,  N.  J.     Gutzon  Borglum,  sculptor 


THE  statue  was  unveiled  May  30,  1911.    It  is  the 
gift  of  Amos  H.  Van  Horn,  who  died  December 
26,  1908.     In  his  will  he  set  aside  $25,000  for  a 
memorial  to  Abraham  Lincoln,  to  be  dedicated  in  mem 
ory  of  Lincoln  Post,  No.  11,  Department  of  New  Jersey, 
G.  A.  R.,  of  which  he  was  a  charter  member. 


JOSEPH  FULFORD  FOLSOM,  Presbyterian  clergy 
man,  miscellaneous  writer  and  local  historian,  is 
a  native  of  Bloomfield,  New  Jersey.    He  is  a  direct 
descendant  of  John  Folsom  who  arrived  at  Boston  in 
the  Diligent  on  August  10,  1638,  and  settled  at  Hing- 
ham,   Massachusetts. 

Mr.  Folsom  is  the  pastor  of  the  Third  Presbyterian 
Church,  South,  of  Newark,  New  Jersey.  He  has 
served  two  terms  as  Chaplain  General  of  the  Order  of 
the  Founders  and  Patriots  of  America.  Is  Librarian 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  235 


and  Recording  Secretary  of  the  New  Jersey  Historical 
Society.  Edited  and  wrote  three  chapters  of  Bloomfield, 
Old  and  New,  a  history  of  that  town  published  in  1912. 
Wrote  the  history  of  the  churches  of  Newark,  including 
the  History  of  Newark,  New  Jersey,  published  in  1913. 
His  poem,  The  Ballad  of  Daniel  Bray,  is  found  in  the 
Patriotic  Poems  of  New  Jersey.  He  is  an  occasional 
writer  of  poems,  and  contributes  regularly  a  column 
of  historical  matters,  signed  "The  Lorist." 


THE  UNFINISHED  WORK 

THE  crowd  was  gone,  and  to  the  side 
Of  Borglum's  Lincoln,  deep  in  awe, 
I  crept.     It  seem'd  a  mighty  tide 
Within  those  aching  eyes  I  saw. 

"Great  heart,"  I  said,  "why  grieve  alway? 

The  battle's  ended  and  the  shout 
Shall  ring  forever  and  a  day, — 

Why  sorrow  yet,  or  darkly  doubt?" 

"Freedom,"  I  plead,  "so  nobly  won 
For  all  mankind,  and  equal  right, 

Shall  with  the  ages  travel  on 

Till  time  shall  cease,  and  day  be  night." 

No  answer — then;  but  up  the  slope, 
With  broken  gait,  and  hands  in  clench, 

A  toiler  came,  bereft  of  hope, 

And  sank  beside  him  on  the  bench. 


CHILDREN  ON  THE  BORGLUM  STATUE 


WENDELL    PHILLIPS    STAFFORD,     son    of 
Frank   and    Sarah    (Noyes)    Stafford,    born   at 
Barre,  Vermont,  May   1,   1861.     Educated   at 
Barre  Academy  and  St.  Johnsbury  Academy.    Studied 
law    and    attended    Boston    University   Law    School, 
graduating  therefrom  in  1883.     Admitted  to  the  bar 
in  1883.     Practiced  law  in  St.  Johnsbury  until  1900. 
Was  then  appointed  to  the  Supreme  Court  of  Vermont. 
Appointed  to  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  District  of 
Columbia  in  1904,  which  position  he  still  holds. 

Married  February  24,  1886,  to  Miss  Florence  Sin 
clair  Goss  of  St.  Johnsbury.  Has  contributed  to  the 
Atlantic  Monthly  and  other  magazines.  Publications: 
North  Flowers  (poems),  1902;  Dorian  Days  (poems), 
1909;  Speeches,  1913. 


236 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  237 


ONE  OF  OUR  PRESIDENTS 

(See  page  80) 

HE  sits  there  on  the  low,  rude,  backless  bench, 
With  his  tall  hat  beside  him,  and  one  arm 
Flung,  thus,  across  his  knee.     The  other  hand 
Rests,  flat,  palm  downward,  by  him  on  the  seat. 
So  ^Esop  may  have  sat;    so  Lincoln  did. 
For  all  the  sadness  in  the  sunken  eyes, 
For  all  the  kingship  in  the  uncrowned  brow, 
The  great  form  leans  so  friendly,  father-like, 
It  is  a  call  to  children.     I  have  watched 
Eight  at  a  time  swarming  upon  him  there, 
All  clinging  to  him — riding  upon  his  knees, 
Cuddling  between  his  arms,  clasping  his  neck, 
Perched  on  his  shoulders,  even  on  his  head; 
And  one  small,  play-stained  hand  I  saw  reached  up 
And  laid  most  softly  on  the  kind  bronze  lips 
As  if  it  claimed  them.     These  were  the  children 
Of  foreigners  we  call  them,  but  not  so 
They  call  themselves;   for  when  we  asked  of  one, 
A  restless  dark-eyed  girl,  who  this  man  was, 
She  answered  straight,  "One  of  our  Presidents." 

"Let  all  the  winds  of  hell  blow  in  our  sails," 
I   thought,   "thank   God,   thank   God  the   ship   rides 
true!" 


HEAD  OF  LINCOLN 

This  medal  was  struck  for  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Republic  in  commemora 
tion  of  the  100th  anniversary  of  the  birth  of  Abraham  Lincoln 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


FRANK  DEMPSTER  SHERMAN,   son  of   John 
Dempster  and  Lucy   (McFarland)  Sherman,  was 
born  May  6,  1860,  at  Peekskill,  New  York;  edu 
cated   at  home  and  at  Columbia  and  Howard  Uni 
versities,    and   since    1886   connected   with   Columbia 
University  where  he  is  Professor  of  Graphics.    Author 
of  several  volumes  of  poems   which  are  published  by 
Houghton-Mifflin  Company,  Boston. 

Professor  Sherman  married,  November  16,  1887, 
Juliet  Durand,  daughter  of  Rev.  Cyrus  Bervic  and 
Sarah  Elizabeth  (Merserveau)  Durand. 

He  is  a  member  of  the  National  Institute  of  Arts  and 
Letters. 


ON  A  BRONZE  MEDAL  OF  LINCOLN 

THIS  bronze  our  Lincoln's  noble  head  doth  bear, 
Behold  the  strength  and  splendor  of  that  face, 
So  homely-beautiful,  with  just  a  trace 
Of  humor  lightening  its  look  of  care, 
With  bronze  indeed  his  memory  doth  share, 
This  martyr  who  found  freedom  for  a  Race; 
Both  shall  endure  beyond  the  time  and  place 
That  knew  them  first,  and  brighter  grow  with  wear. 
Happy  must  be  the  genius  here  that  wrought 
These  features  of  the  great  American 

Whose  fame  lends  so  much  glory  to  our  past — 
Happy  to  know  the  inspiration  caught 
From  this  most  human  and  heroic  man 

Lives  here  to  honor  him  while  Art  shall  last. 


MARBLE  HEAD  OF  LINCOLN 
In  Statuary  Hall,  Capitol  in  Washington,  Gutzon  Borglum.  sculptor 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  241 


ELLA  WHEELER  [WILCOX]  was  born  in  Johns 
town  Centre,  Wisconsin,  in  1845.     Was  educated 
at  the  public  schools  at  Windsor  and  at  the  Uni 
versity  of  Wisconsin.     In  1884  she  married  Robert  M. 
Wilcox.     Contributed   articles   for   newspapers   at  an 
early  age  and  also  wrote  and  published  a  number  of 
books  of  poems. 


THE  GLORY  THAT  SLUMBERED  IN  THE 
GRANITE  ROCK 

A  GRANITE  rock  on  the  mountain  side 
Gazed  on  the  world  and  was  satisfied; 
It  watched  the  centuries  come  and  go — 
It  welcomed  the  sunlight,  and  loved  the  snow, 
It  grieved  when  the  forest  was  forced  to  fall, 
But  smiled  when  the  steeples  rose,  white  and  tall, 
In  the  valley  below  it,  and  thrilled  to  hear 
The  voice  of  the  great  town  roaring  near. 

Wlien  the  mountain  stream  from  its  idle  play 
Was  caught  by  the  mill-wheel,  and  borne  away 
And  trained  to  labor,  the  gray  rock  mused: 
"Tree  and  verdure  and  stream  are  used 
By  man,  the  master,  but  I  remain 
Friend  of  the  Mountain,  and  Star,  and  Plain; 
Unchanged  forever,  by  God's  decree, 
While  passing  centuries  bow  to  me!" 

Then,  all  unwarned,  with  a  heavy  shock 

Down  from  the  mountain  was  wrenched  the  rock. 

Bruised  and  battered  and  broken  in  heart, 

He  was  carried  away  to  a  common  mart. 

Wrecked  and  ruined  in  peace  and  pride, 

"Oh,  God  is  cruel!"  the  granite  cried; 


242  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

"Comrade  of  Mountain,  of  Star  the  friend- 
By  all  deserted — how  sad  my  end!" 

A  dreaming  sculptor,  in  passing  by, 
Gazed  on  the  granite  with  thoughtful  eye; 
Then,  stirred  with  a  purpose  supreme  and  grand, 
He  bade  his  dream  in  the  rock  expand — 
And  lo!   from  the  broken  and  shapeless  mass, 
That  grieved  and  doubted,  it  came  to  pass 
That  a  glorious  statue,  of  infinite  worth — 
A  statue  of  LINCOLN — adorned  the  earth. 


THE  LINCOLN  BOULDER 
At  Nyack,  N.  Y. 

THIS  boulder  had  been  for  two  hundred  and  fifty 
years  a  landmark  near  the  Western  shore  of  the 
Hudson    River,    opposite    Upper   Nyack.      The 
school   children   of   Nyack   contributed   the  funds  to 
to  remove  it  from  its  ancient  bed  and  place  it  in  front 
of  the  Nyack  Carnegie  Library,  where  it  now  stands 
and   probably   will   stand   for   thousands   of  years  to 
come,  a  monument  to  the  memory  of  Abraham  Lincoln. 
The  boulder  contains  the  Gettysburg  address  and 
was  dedicated  June  13,   1908. 


243 


244  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 


GUIS  BRADFORD  COUCH,  born  at  East  Lee, 
Massachusetts,  October  1,  1851.  Son  of  Bradford 
Milton  and  Lucy  L.  Couch.  Educated  in  the  pub 
lic  schools  of  Northampton,  Massachusetts.  Began  the 
study  of  medicine  in  1871,  graduating  with  honors  from 
the  New  York  Homeopathic  Medical  College,  March 
4,  1874.  being  awarded  the  Allen  gold  medal  for  the  best 
original  investigations  in  medicine;  he  was  graduated 
from  the  New  York  Ophthalmic  Hospital,  the  same 
year,  as  an  eye  and  ear  surgeon.  Practiced  medicine  for 
thirty-nine  years  at  Nyack,  New  York.  Served  three 
years  as  one  of  the  medical  experts  on  the  New  York 
State  Board  of  Health. 


THE  LINCOLN  BOULDER 

O  MIGHTY   Boulder,   wrought   by   God's    own 
hand, 
Throughout  all  future  ages   thou  shalt   stand 
A  monument  of  honor  to  the  brave 
Who  yielded  up  their  lives,  their  all,  to  save 
Our  glorious  country,  and  to  make  it  free 
From  bondsmen's  tears  and  lash  of  slavery. 

Securely  wielded  to  thy  rugged  breast, 
Through  all  the  coming  ages  there  shall  rest 
Our  Lincoln's  tribute  to  a  patriot  band, 
The  noblest  ever  penned  by  human  hand. 

The  storms  of  centuries  may  lash  and  beat 
The  granite  face  and  bronze  with  hail  and  sleet; 
But  futile  all  their  fury.     In  a  day 
The  loyal  sun  will  melt  them  all  away. 

Equal  in  death  our  gallant  heroes  sleep 

In  Southern  trench,  home  grave,  or  ocean  deep; 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  245 


Equal  in  glory,  fadeless  as  the  light 

The  stars  send  down  upon  them  through  the  night. 

O  priceless  heritage  for  us  to  keep 

Our  heroes'  fame  immortal  while  they  sleep! 

O  God  still  guide  us  with  thy  loving  hand, 
Keep  and  protect  our  glorious  Fatherland. 


BAS-RELIEF  HEAD  OF  LINCOLN 
James  W.  Tuft,  Boston 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  247 


JAMES  ARTHUR  EDGERTON,  born  at  Plants- 
ville,  Ohio,  January  30,  1869.  Graduated  at  the 
Normal  University,  Lebanon,  Ohio,  in  1887.  One 
year's  post-graduate  work,  Marietta,  Ohio,  College. 
Editor  county  and  state  papers  several  years;  on 
editorial  staff  of  Denver  News,  1899-1903;  American 
Press  Association,  New  York,  1904;  Watson's  Magazine, 
1905.  Editorial  writer  New  York  American,  1907; 
Secretary  State  Labor  Bureau  of  Nebraska,  1895-9; 
received  party  vote  for  clerk  United  States  House  of 
Representatives.  Author,  Poems,  1889;  A  Better 
Day,  1890;  Populist  Hand-book  for  1894;  Populist 
Hand-book  for  Nebraska,  1895;  Voices  of  the  Morning, 
1898;  Songs  of  the  People,  1902;  Glimpses  of  the  Real, 
1903;  In  the  Gardens  of  God,  1904. 


WHEN  LINCOLN  DIED 

WHEN  Lincoln  died  a  universal  grief 
Went  round  the  earth.     Men  loved  him  in 
that  hour. 

The  North  her  leader  lost,  the  South  her  friend; 
The  nation  lost  its  savior,  and  the  slave 
Lost  his  deliverer,  the  most  of  all. 
Oh,  there  was  sorrow  mid  the  humble  poor 
Wlien  Lincoln  died! 

When  Lincoln  died  a  great  soul  passed  from  earth, 

A  great  white  soul,  as  tender  as  a  child 

And  yet  as  iron  willed  as  Hercules. 

In  him  were  strength  and  gentleness  so  mixed 

That  each  upheld  the  other.     He  possessed 

The  patient  firmness  of  a  loving  heart. 

In  power  he  out-kinged  emperors,  and  yet 

His  mercy  was  as  boundless  as  his  power. 

And  he  was  jovial,  laughter  loving;  still 

His  heart  was  ever  torn  with  suffering. 


248  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

There  was  divine  compassion  in  the  man, 
A  godlike  love  and  pity  for  his  race. 
The  world  saw  the  full  measure  of  that  love 
When  Lincoln  died. 

When  Lincoln  died  a  type  was  lost  to  men. 
The  earth  has  had  her  conquerors  and  kings 
And  many  of  the  common  great.    Through  all 
She  only  had  one  Lincoln.    There  is  none 
Like  him  in  all  the  annals  of  the  past. 
He  was  a  growth  of  our  new  soil,  a  child 
Of  our  new  time,  a  symbol  of  the  race 
That  freedom  breeds;    was  of  the  lowest  rank, 
And  yet  he  scaled  the  highest  height. 
Mankind  one  of  its  few  immortals  lost 
When  Lincoln  died. 


When  Lincoln  died  it  seemed  a  providence, 

For  he  appeared  as  one  sent  for  a  work 

Whom,  when  that  work  was  done,   God  summoned 

home. 

He  led  a  splendid  fight  for  liberty, 
And  when  the  shackles  fell  the  land  was  saved; 
He  laid  his  armor  by  and  sought  his  rest. 
A  glory  sent  from  heaven  covered  him 
When  Lincoln  died. 


A  STUDY  OF  LINCOLN 
From  painting  by  Blendon  Campbell 


•18 


250  THE  POETS'  LINCOLN 

AHOS  RUSSELL  WELLS  was  born  at  Glens  Falls, 
New  York,  December  23,  1862.  His  mother  re 
moved  to  Yellow  Springs,  Ohio,  when  he  was  four 
years  old,  and  he  received  his  education  at  the  public 
school  there,  afterward  studying  at  Antioch  College 
of  that  town,  a  college  made  illustrious  by  its  first  Presi 
dent,  Horace  Mann,  who  died  there.  Graduated  in 
1883,  all  by  himself,  later  receiving  as  Master  of  Arts, 
also  LL.D.  He  taught  for  a  year  in  a  country  district 
school,  then  entered  the  faculty  of  his  Alma  Mater, 
where  he  was  a  tutor  for  nine  years.  Was  professor 
of  Greek,  Geology  and  Astronomy.  He  joined  the 
Christian  Endeavor  Society  in  1888,  and  by  it  wras  led 
to  become  a  member  of  the  Presbyterian  Church  at 
Yellow  Springs.  When  but  a  boy  he  began  to  write, 
arid  edited  numerous  journals.  Later  edited  an  ama 
teur  paper,  also  a  town  paper.  His  first  paid  contri 
bution  was  a  poem  accepted  in  1881  by  The  Christian 
Union,  now  The  Outlook.  Wrote  articles  often  for 
The  Golden  Rule,  now  The  Christian  Endeavor  World, 
and  for  the  Sunday  School  Times. 

In  December,  1891,  he  went  to  Boston  and  became 
managing  editor  of  The  Golden  Rule,  a  position  which 
he  still  holds.  Since  then  the  paper  has  changed  its 
name  and  three  other  papers  added — The  Junior 
Christian  Endeavor  World,  Junior  Work  and  Union 
Work,  all  edited  by  Mr.  Wells.  He  is  also  Editorial 
Secretary  of  the  United  Society  of  Christian  Endeavor 
and  in  editorial  charge  of  all  its  publications. 

Mr.  Wells'  first  book,  then  entitled  Golden  Rule 
Meditations,  but  now  The  Upward  Look,  was  published 
in  1893.  Since  then  every  year  has  seen  from  one  to 
ten  additions  to  his  list  of  productions  until  they  now 
number  fifty-eight  volumes  in  all.  He  is  a  director  of 
the  Union  Rescue  Mission  and  of  the  Chinese  Mission 
of  Boston.  Is  a  member  of  the  American  Sunday- 
School  Lesson  Committee,  an  important  part  of  his 
work  being  his  association  with  Dr.  F.  N.  Peloubet  in 
writing  the  well-known  Select  Notes  on  the  Interna 
tional  Sunday-School  Lessons. 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  251 


HAD  LINCOLN  LIVED 

HAD  Lincoln  lived, 
How  would  his  hand,  so  gentle  yet  so  strong, 
Have  closed  the  gaping    wounds    of    ancient 

wrong; 

How  would  his  merry  jests,  the  way  he  smiled, 
Our  sundered  hearts  to  union  have  beguiled; 
How  would  the  South  from  his  just  rule  have  learned 
That  enemies  to  neighbors  may  be  turned, 
And  how  the  North,  with  his  sagacious  art, 
Have  learned  the  power  of  a  trusting  heart; 
What  follies  had  been  spared  us,  and  what  stain, 
What  seeds  of  bitterness  that  still  remain, 
Had  Lincoln  lived! 

With  Lincoln  dead, 
Ten  million  men  in  substitute  for  one 
Must  do  the  noble  deeds  he  would  have  done: 
Must  lift  the  freedman  with  discerning  care, 
Nor  house  him  in  a  castle  of  the  air; 
Must  join  the  North  and  South  in  every  good, 
Fused  in  co-operating  brotherhood; 
Must  banish  enmity  with  his  good  cheer, 
And  slay  with  sunshine  every  rising  fear; 
Like  him  to  dare,  and  trust,  and  sacrifice, 
Ten  million  lesser  Lincolns  must  arise, 

With  Lincoln  dead. 


THE  LINCOLN  MEMORIAL 
Henry  Bacon,  Architect 


THE  Lincoln  Memorial  will  be  the  costliest  monu 
ment  to  the  memory  of  one  man  ever  reared  by 
a  republic.  The  Capitol,  at  one  end  of  the  great 
parkway  stretching  from  Capitol  Hill  to  the  Potomac, 
is  a  monument  to  the  Government;  the  Lincoln 
Memorial,  at  the  other  end  of  that  parkway,  is  a 
monument  to  the  savior  of  that  Government;  and  the 
Washington  Monument,  standing  between,  is  a  monu 
ment  to  its  founder.  The  memorial  will  stand  on  a 
broad  terrace  45  feet  above  grade.  The  colonnade  will 
be  188  feet  long  and  118  feet  wide,  and  will  contain 
36  columns,  44  feet  high  and  7  feet  5  inches  in  diam 
eter  at  the  base.  Within  the  interior  of  the  structure 
will  be  three  halls.  In  the  central  hall,  which  will  be 
60  feet  wide,  70  long,  and  60  high,  there  will  be  a  noble 
statue  of  Lincoln,  while  in  the  two  side  halls  will  be 
bronze  tablets  containing  the  Great  Emancipator's 
second  inaugural  address  and  his  Gettysburg  speech. 
The  George  A.  Fuller  Company,  of  Washington  are  the 
builders  of  the  Memorial,  which  will  be  completed 
in  1917. 

252 


THE  POETS'  LINCOLN  253 


SAMUEL  GREEN  WHEELER  BENJAMIN,  born 
at  Argos,  Greece,  February  13,  1837.  Was  United 
States  Minister  to  Persia  (1883-1885).  Assistant 
Librarian  in  the  New  York  State  Library.  In  1861-1864 
sent  two  companies  of  cavalry  to  the  war.  Served  in 
war  hospitals,  studied  art.  Art  editor  of  American 
Department  Magazine  of  Art,  also  of  the  New  York 
Mail.  Marine  painter  and  illustrator.  Among  his 
numerous  works  in  prose  and  verse  are  Art  in  America, 
Contemporary  Art  in  Europe  (1877);  Constantinople 
(1860);  Persia  and  the  Persians  (1866);  The  Choice 
of  Paris  (1870),  a  romance;  Sea  Spray  (1887),  a  book 
for  yachtsmen,  etc. 


LET  HIS  MONUMENT  ARISE 

EF  his  monument  arise, 
Pointing  upward  to  the  skies, 
Founded  by  a  nation's  heart, 
Grandly  shaped  in  every  part 
By  the  master-minds  of  art, 
And  consecrated  by  a  nation's  tears, 
To  teach  throughout  the  after-time, 
To  every  tribe,  in  every  clime, 
That  toil  for  others  is  sublime. 


INDEX 


ALLEN,  LYMAN  WHITNEY:    sketch  of, 

80;     poem,    "Lincoln's   Church   in 

Washington,"  by,  81. 
ALLEN,    WILLIAM:     sketch    of,    173; 

poem,    "Springfield's   Welcome   to 

Lincoln,"  by,  173. 
ANTIETAM,  LINCOLN  AT:  photograph, 

115. 
"ASSASSINATION    OF    LINCOLN,    ON 

THE":    poem  by  Henry  De  Garrs, 

200. 


B 


BACHE,  ANNA:  poem,  "Lincoln  at 
Springfield,  1861,"  by,  65,  66. 

BACON,  HENRY,  architect:  Lincoln 
Memorial  at  Washington,  by,  252 

BALL,  THOMAS,  sculptor:  "Emanci 
pation  Group"  in  Boston  by,  90; 
in  \Vashington  by,  188. 

BATES,  EDWARD,  Attorney-General: 
portrait  of,  in  "Lincoln  and  Cabi 
net,"  206. 

BAXTER,  JAMES  PHINNEY:  sketch  of 
22;  poem,  "The  Natal  Day  of 
Lincoln,"  by,  22. 

BECKER,  CHARLOTTE:  sketch  of,  61; 
poem,  "Lincoln,"  by,  61. 

BENJAMIN,  SAMUEL  GREEN  WHEEL 
ER:  sketch  of,  253;  poem,  "Let 
His  Monument  Arise,"  by,  253. 

BIBLE,  THE;  Lincoln's  fondness  for 
xvi,  xxiii. 

"BIRTH  OF  LINCOLN,  THE":  poem  by 
George  W.  Crofts,  19. 

BISSELL,  GEORGE  E.,  sculptor:  statue 
of  Lincoln  by,  231. 

BLAIR,  MONTGOMERY,  Postmaster- 
General:  portrait  of,  in  "Lincoln 
and  Cabinet,"  206. 

BOKER,  GEORGE  HENRY:  sketch  of 
208;  poem,  "Lincoln,"  by,  209. 

BOOTH,  EDWIN:  Lincoln  discusses  his 
Hamlet,  xvii-xix. 

BOOTH,  J.  WILKES:  assassin  of  Lin 
coln,  138. 

BORGLUM,  GUTZON,  sculptor:  statue 
of  Lincoln  by,  234,  236;  marble 
head  of  Lincoln  by,  240. 

BOSTON:  statue  of  Lincoln  in,  by 
Thomas  Ball,  90. 

"BOY  LINCOLN,  THE":  picture  by 
Eastman  Johnson,  30. 

BRADY,  Washington  photographer: 
portraits  of  Lincoln  by,  frontis 
piece,  20,  86,  93,  97,  103,  106,  108, 
122,  124,  128,  134,  170,  210. 

"BRONZE  MEDAL  OF  LINCOLN,  ON  A"  : 
poem  by  Frank  Dempster  Sher 
man,  239. 

BROWN,  STUART:  owner  of  Lincoln 
portrait,  82. 

BROWN,  THERON:  sketch  of,  94; 
poem,  "The  Liberator,"  by,  94. 


BROWNE,  CHARLES  F.,  see  WARD, 
ARTEMUS. 

BRYANT,  WILLIAM  CULLEN:  sketch 
of,  161;  poem,  "The  Death  of 
Lincoln,"  by,  161. 

BUFFALO,  N.  Y.:  Lincoln's  obsequies 
at,  168. 

BUGBEE,  EMILY  J.:  "Poetical  Trib 
ute  to  the  Memory  of  Abraham 
Lincoln,"  by,  201. 

BURLEIGH,  WILLIAM  HENRY:  sketch 
of,  53;  poem,  "Presidential  Cam 
paign,  1860,"  by,  53. 

BURLINGTON,  Wis.:  statue  of  Lin 
coln  in,  by  Ganiere,  228. 

"BUT  HERE'S  AN  OBJECT  MORE  OF 
DREAD":  poem  by  Lincoln,  viii. 


CABIN,  LOG,  Lincoln's  birthplace: 
picture,  13. 

CABIN  OF  LINCOLN'S  PARENTS:  pic 
ture,  62;  description,  63. 

CAMPBELL,  BLENDON.  artist:  "A 
Study  of  Lincoln"  by,  249. 

CAPITOL  AT  WASHINGTON,  THE:  de 
scription  of,  72;  picture  of,  73. 

CARPENTER,  FRANK  B.,  painter  of 
"First  Reading  of  the  Emancipa 
tion  Proclamation,"  xvii,  206;  his 
account  of  Lincoln  as  a  dramatic 
critic,  xvii. 

CARR,  CLARENCE  E.:  sketch  of,  20; 
poem,  "Mendelssohn,  Darwin,  Lin 
coln,"  by,  21. 

GARY,  ALICE:  sketch  of,  130;  poem, 
Abraham  Lincoln,"  by,  131. 

CARY,  PHOEBE,  sketch  of,  210;  poem, 
"Abraham  Lincoln,"  by,  211. 

CASSIDY,  THOMAS  F.:  tribute  of,  to 
the  mother  of  Lincoln,  25. 

CAWEIN,  MADISON:  sketch  of,  56; 
poem,  "Lincoln,  1809 — February 
12,  1909,"  by,  56. 

"CENOTAPH  OF  LINCOLN,  THE": 
poem  by  James  Mackay,  181. 

CHAPPLE,  BENNETT:  poem,  "The 
Great  Oak,"  by,  15. 

"CHARACTERIZATION  OF  LINCOLN, 
A.":  poem  by  Hamilton  Schuyler, 
87. 

CHASE,  SALMON  P.,  Secretary  of  the 
Treasury:  portrait  of,  in  "Lincoln 
and  Cabinet,"  206. 

CHENEY,  JOHN  VANCE:  sketch  of,  76; 
poem,  "Lincoln,"  by,  77. 

CHICAGO:  statue  of  Lincoln  in,  by 
Saint  Gaudens,  214. 

"CHILDREN  ON  THE  BORGLUM 
STATUE":  picture,  236. 

CHOATE,  ISAAC  BASSETT:  sketch  of, 
59;  poem,  "The  Matchless  Lin 
coln,"  by,  59. 


255 


256 


INDEX 


CITY    HALL,    NEW    YORK,    N.    Y.: 

picture  and  description  of,  at  time 

of  Lincoln  obsequies,  162,  166. 
CLAY,  HENRY:    Lincoln's  regard  for, 

vi;   his  eulogy  of,  xv. 
CLENDENIN,  HENRY  WILSON:   sketch 

of,  70;    poem,  "Lincoln  Called  to 

the  Presidency,"  by,  70. 
COOKE,  ROSE  TERRY:  sketch  of,  132; 

poem,  "Abraham  Lincoln."  by,  133. 
COOPER  UNION  SPEECH,  by  Lincoln; 

reference  to,  xii. 
CORNWALLIS,   KINAHAN:    sketch   of, 

229;      poem,    "Homage     Due    to 

Lincoln,"  by,  229. 
COUCH,  Louis  BRADFORD:   sketch  of, 

244;  poem,  "The  Lincoln  Boulder," 

by,  244. 
CRANCH,       CHRISTOPHER       PEARSE: 

sketch  of,  206:    poem,  "Lincoln," 

by,  207. 
CROFTS,  GEORGE  W.:    sketch  of,  19: 

poem,  "The  Birth  of  Lincoln,"  by, 

19. 


"DARWIN,  MENDELSSOHN,  LINCOLN"  : 
poem  by  Clarence  E.  Carr,  21; 
portraits  of,  20. 

DAVIS,  NOAH:  sketch  of,  17;  poem. 
"Lincoln,"  by,  17. 

DEATH  OF  LINCOLN,  149. 

"DEATH  OF  LINCOLN":  poem  by  Wil 
liam  Cullen  Bryant,  161. 

DEATHBED  OF  LINCOLN:  picture  of, 
144,  poem  on,  145. 

DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE: 
Lincoln  on,  68. 

"DEDICATION  POEM"  of  Lincoln 
Monument  at  Springfield,  111.,  by 
James  Judson  Lord,  183. 

DICKINSON,  CHARLES  MONROE: 
sketch  of,  136;  poem,  "Abraham 
Lincoln,"  by,  136. 

"DIOGENES  AND  His  LANTERN": 
campaign  cartoon  of  1860,  55. 

DOUGLAS,  STEPHEN  A.,  Senator:  Lin 
coln's  opposition  to,  xvi;  attitude 
of,  on  the  Dred  Scott  Decision, 
opposed  by  Lincoln,  42. 

DRED  SCOTT  DECISION:  reference  to, 
42. 

DUNBAR,  PAUL  LAWRENCE:  sketch 
of,  128;  poem,  "Lincoln,"  by,  129. 


EDGERTON,  JAMES  ARTHUR:  sketch  of 
247;  poem,  "When  Lincoln  Died," 
by,  247. 

EDINBURGH,  SCOTLAND:  statue  of 
Lincoln  in,  by  Bissell,  231. 

"EMANCIPATION  GROUP,"  statuary 
designed  by  Thomas  Ball:  in 
Boston,  90;  in  Washington,  188; 
poem  on,  by  John  Greenleaf  Whit- 
tier,  91. 

"EMANCIPATION  PROCLAMATION, 
FIRST  READING  OF  THE":  painting 
by  Frank  B.  Carpenter,  206. 


"ENGLAND'S     SORROW":      poem     in 

London  Fun,  153. 
EUCLID:    see  GEOMETRY. 
"EYES  OF  LINCOLN,  THE":   poem  by 

Walt  Mason,  121. 


FASSETT,  S.  M.,  Chicago  photogra 
pher:  portrait  of  Lincoln  in  1858, 
by,  71. 

"FIRST  READING  OF  THE  EMANCIPA 
TION  PROCLAMATION",  painting  by 
Frank  B.  Carpenter,  206. 

FLANNERY,  LOTT,  sculptor:  statue  of 
Lincoln  by,  199. 

FOLSOM,  JOSEPH  FULFORD:  sketch  of , 
234;  poem,  "The  Unfinished 
Work,"  by,  235. 

FOLTZ,  CHARLES  G.:  sketch  of,  98; 
poem,  "On  Freedom's  Summit," 
by,  98. 

FORD'S  THEATRE:  picture  of,  138. 

FRENCH,  DANIEL  CHESTER,  sculptor: 
statue  of  Lincoln  by,  226 

FUN,  LONDON:  poem,  "England's 
Sorrow"  in,  153. 

FUNERAL  OF  LINCOI  N,  THE,  in  White 
House:  picture,  154. 

"FUNERAL  CAR  OF  LINCOLN":  pic 
ture  of,  158;  poem  by  Richard 
Henry  Stoddard  on,  159. 

"FUNERAL  HYMN  OF  LINCOLN": 
poem  by  Phineas  Densmore  Gur- 
ley,  155. 


GAMIERE,  GEORGE  E.,  sculptor: 
statue  of  Lincoln  by,  228. 

GARDNER,  Washington  photographer: 
portraits  of  Lincoln  by,  88,  95,  112, 
118,  130,  132. 

GARRS,  HENRY  DE:  sketch  of,  200; 
poem,  "On  the  Assassination  of 
Lincoln,"  by,  200. 

GELERT,  JOHANNES,  sculptor:  bust 
of  Lincoln  by,  iv,  y. 

GENTRY,  MATTHEW,  insane  friend  of 
Lincoln:  poem  by  Lincoln  on,  vii- 
ix. 

GEOMETRY:  favorite  study  of  Lin 
coln,  xii,  63. 

GETTYSBURG,  LINCOLN'S  SPEECH  AT: 
in  prose  form,  100;  comment  by 
William  H.  Lambert  on,  101;  in 
verse  form,  xii. 

"GETTYSBURG  ODE":  poem  by  Bay 
ard  Taylor,  102. 

GILDER,  RICHARD  WATSON:  sketch  of 
45;  poem,  "On  the  Life-Mask  of 
Abraham  Lincoln,"  by,  45. 

GILMER,  photographer:  ambrotype 
of  Lincoln,  1858,  by,  40. 

"GLORY,  THE,  THAT  SLUMBERED  IN 
THE  GRANITE  ROCKS":  poem  by 
Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox. 

GOULD,  ELIZABETH  PORTER:  sketch 
of,  41;  poem,  "The  Voice  of  Lin 
coln,"  by,  41. 


INDEX 


257 


"GRAVE  OF  LINCOLN,  THE":    views 

of,    178,    180,    182;     poem   on,   by 

Edna  Dean  Proctor,  186. 
"GREAT  OAK,  THE,"  poem  by  Ben 
nett  Chappie,  14. 
GUITERMAN,  ARTHUR:  sketch  of,  123; 

poem,  "He  Leads   Us    Still,"  by, 

123. 
GURLEY,  PHINEAS  DENSMORE:  sketch 

of,  155;  poem,  "The  Funeral  Hymn 

of  Lincoln,"  by,  155. 
"HAD    LINCOLN    LIVED":     poem   by 

Amos  Russell  Wells,  251. 
HAGEDORN,    HERMANN:     sketch    of, 

107;    poem,  "Oh,  Patient  Eyes!" 

by,  107. 
HALL,  EUGENE  J.:   poem,  "Abraham 

Lincoln,"  by,  220. 


H 


HALPIN,  CHARLES  GRAHAM  ("Miles 
O'Reilly"):  sketch  of,  215;  poem, 
"Lincoln,"  by,  216. 

"HAND  OF  LINCOLN,  THE":  cast  by 
Leonard  W.  Volk,  46;  poem  on, 
by  Edmund  Clarence  Stedman, 
47. 

HANKS,  NANCY:  see  LINCOLN,  NANCY 
HANKS. 

HAY,  JOHN,  secretary  of  Lincoln: 
portrait  of,  67. 

"HE  LEADS  Us  STILL";  poem  by 
Arthur  Guiterman,  123. 

HERNDON,  WILLIAM  H.,  law  partner 
of  Lincoln:  presents  Lincoln's 
office  chair  to  O.  H.  Oldroyd,  36. 

HESLER,  Chicago  photographer:  por 
trait  of  Lincoln  in  1860,  by,  58. 

HICKS,  painter  of  Lincoln  portrait 
lithographed  for  campaign  of  1860, 
49. 

HODGENVILLE,  KY.  :  statue  of  Lin 
coln  in,  by  Weinman,  126. 

HOLMES,  OLIVER  WENDELL:  sketch 
of,  170;  poem,  "Services  in  Mem 
ory  of  Abraham  Lincoln,"  by,  171; 
his  "Last  Leaf,"  a  favorite  poem 
of  Lincoln,  xi,  xxi. 

"HOMAGE  DUE  TO  LINCOLN":  poem 
by  Kinahan  Cornwallis,  229. 

"HONEST  ABE":  campaign  cartoon 
of  1860,  55. 

"HONEST  ABE  OF  THE  WEST":  poem 
by  Edmund  Clarence  Stedman,  51. 

HOOPER,  LUCY  HAMILTON:  sketch  of, 
175;  poem,  "Lincoln,"  by,  176. 

"HORATIAN  ODE,  AN":  poem  by 
Richard  Henry  Stoddard,  29,  159, 
193. 

HOSMER,  FREDERICK  LUCIAN:  sketch 
of,  134;  poem,  "Lincoln,"  bv, 
135. 

"HOUSE  WHERE  LINCOLN  DIED, 
THE":  picture  of,  150;  poem  by 
Robert  Mackay  on,  151;  Oldroyd 
collection  of  Lincoln  Memorials  at, 
Foreword. 

HOWE,  JULIA  WARD:  sketch  of,  14; 
poem,  "Lincoln,"  by,  14. 


INDEPENDENCE  HALL,  PHILADEL 
PHIA:  speech  of  Lincoln  at,  68; 
picture  of,  69. 

INGMIRE,  F.  W.,  photographer:  pic 
ture  of  Lincoln  Homestead  at  time 
of  Lincoln's  funeral,  172. 

"!N  TOKEN  OF  RESPECT":  poem, 
152. 


JOHNSON,  EASTMAN:    picture,   "The 

Boy  Lincoln,"  by,  30. 
JOHNSON,  WILLIAM,  literary  friend  of 

Lincoln:    Lincoln's  letters  to,   v- 

ix. 
JOHNSTON,  JAMES  NICOLL:  sketch  of, 

168;    poem,  "Requiem,"  by,  169. 


KIMBALL,  HARRIET  McEwEN:  sketch 
of,  157;  poem,  "Rest,  Rest,  for 
Him,"  by,  157. 

KNOX,  WILLIAM,  Scotch  poet:  favor 
ite  of  Lincoln,  vi;  his  poem,  "Oh 
Why  Should  the  Spirit  of  Mortal 
Be  Proud,"  ix. 


LAMBERT,  WILLIAM  H.:  on  Lincoln's 
Speech  at  Gettysburg,  101. 

LARCOM,  LUCY,  sketch  of,  164;  poem, 
"Tolling,"  by,  165. 

"LAST  LEAF, THE,"  by  O.  W.  Holmes: 
favorite  poem  of  Lincoln,  xi,  xxi. 

"LEADER  OF  His  PEOPLE":  poem  by 
William  Wilberforce  Newton,  32. 

LEIGHTON,  ROBERT:  poem,  "Sic 
Semper  Tyrannis!"  by,  139. 

"LET  THE  PRESIDENT  SLEEP":  poem 
by  James  M.  Stewart,  179. 

"LET  His  MONUMENT  ARISE":  poem 
by  Samuel  Green  Wheeler  Benja 
min,  253. 

"LIBERATOR, THE":  poembyTheron 
Brown,  94. 

"LIFE-MASK  OF  LINCOLN,  THE": 
cast  by  Leonard  W.  Volk,  44; 
poem  on,  by  Richard  Watson  Gil 
der,  45. 

LINCOLN,  ABRAHAM:  poems  by,  v-ix; 
speeches  by,  xii-xiv,  xv-xvii,  xix, 
xxi-xxiii;  lectures  by,  xix,  xx; 
his  favorite  poems,  vi,  ix-xi,  xxi; 
his  moral  character,  xiy-xvii;  his 
literary  inspirations,  xii,  xvi-xix, 
xxiii,  17;  as  a  dramatic  critic, 
xvii-xix;  as  a  literary  artist,  xix- 
xxiii;  his  taste  for  humor,  xx;  birth 
13,  14,  15,  17,  19,  21,  22,  74,  109; 
youth,  14,  17,  29,  31,  32,  46,  47, 
142;  education,  17,  22,  23,  31,  32, 
35;  profession,  34,  36,  37,  147, 
148;  religion,  17,  18,  41,  65,  66, 
79,  81,  84,  85,  99,  105,  114,  125, 


258 


INDEX 


135,  223;    statecraft,    14,    18,   23,    I 
29,  33,  37,  38,  42,  47,  48,  57,  59,    ! 
70,  75,  77,  78,  83,  91,  94,  95,  96,    ! 
98,   110,   116,   119,   127,   129,   131,    ! 

136,  141,  148,  161,  163,  183,  189, 
193,  209,  220,  223,  229,  232,  241; 
character,  43,  45,  48,  51,  54,   56, 
61,  74,  87,  89,  107,  109,  113,  116, 
121,  123,  125,  127,  131,  133,  135, 
136,  139,  141,  148,  174,  176,  189, 
200,  201,  209,  211,  216,  220,  223, 
227,  239,  241;    death,  15,   18,  24, 
29,  31,  61,  75,  92,  99,  137,  138-207, 
211,  219,  230,  247,  251. 

"LINCOLN"  :  title  of  poems  by  Becker, 
Charlotte,  61;  Boker,  George 
Henry,  209;  Cheney,  John  Vance, 
77;  Cranch,  Christopher  Pearse, 
207;  Dunbar,  Paul  Lawrence,  129; 
Davis,  Noah,  17;  Halpin,  Charles 
Graham,  216;  Hooper,  Lucy  Ham 
ilton,  176;  Hosmer,  Frederick 
Lucian,  135;  Howe,  Julia  Ward, 
14;  Mitchell,  S  Weir,  125;  Mon 
roe,  Harriet,  119;  Smith,  Wilbur 
Hazelton,  35;  Trowbridge,  John 
Townsend,  227. 

"LINCOLN,  ABRAHAM"  :  title  of  poems 
by,  Gary,  Alice,  131;  Cary,  Phoebe, 
211;  Cooke,  Rose  Terry,  133; 
Dickinson,  Charles  Monroe,  136, 
Hall,  Eugene  J.,  200;  Sangster, 
Margaret  Elizabeth,  109;  Town- 
send,  George  Alfred,  127. 

"LINCOLN,  ABRAHAM,  FOULLY  ASSAS 
SINATED":  cartoon  in  London 
Punch,  140;  poem  by  Tom  Taylor 
on,  141. 

LINCOLN,  AMBROTYPES  OF:  34,  40, 
42,  52. 

"LINCOLN  AND  CABINET":  painting 
by  Frank  B.  Carpenter,  206. 

"LINCOLN  AND  ST ANTON":  poem  by 
Marion  Mills  Miller,  148. 

"LINCOLN  AS  CANDIDATE  FOR  SENA 
TOR":  ambrotype  by  Gilmer,  1858, 
40. 

"LINCOLN  AT  SPRINGFIELD,  1861": 
poem  by  Anna  Bashe,  66. 

"LINCOLN  AT  THE  TIME  OF  DEBATE 
WITH  DOUGLAS":  ambrotype  in 
1858,  42. 

LINCOLN,  BAS-RELIEF  HEAD  OF:    by    i 
James  W.  Tuft,  246. 

LINCOLN,  BUST  OF:  by  Johannes 
Gelert,  iv. 

"LINCOLN    BY    THE    CABIN    FIRE":    | 
picture.  16. 

"LINCOLN  CALLED  TO  THE  PRESI 
DENCY":  poem  by  Henry  Wilson 
Clendenin,  70. 

LINCOLN,  CARTOONS  OF:    "Abraham    j 
Lincoln  Foully  Assassinated,"  140; 
"Honest  Abe,"  55. 

"LINCOLN,  1809-FEBRUARY  12,  1909" 
poem  by  Madison  Cawein,  56. 

"LINCOLN,  1865":  poem  by  John 
Nichol,  204. 

LINCOLN,  DEATH  OF,  149. 

LINCOLN,  HAND  OF:  cast  by  Leonard 
W.  Volk,  46. 


LINCOLN,  HEAD  OF:  in  marble,  by 
Borglum,  at  Washington,  240. 

"LINCOLN  IN  His  OFFICE  CHAIR": 
poem  by  James  Riley,  37. 

LINCOLN,  LIFE-MASK  OF:  by  Leon 
ard  W.  Volk,  44. 

LINCOLN,  MEDALLION  OF:  Bronze 
Head  in  Commemoration  of  Lin 
coln  Centenary,  238. 

"LINCOLN,  MENDELSSOHN,  DARWIN"  : 
poem  by  Clarence  E.  Carr,  21; 
portraits  of,  20. 

LINCOLN,  MONUMENTS  OF:  Lincoln 
Memorial  at  Washington,  by  Ba 
con,  Henry,  252;  Lincoln  Monu 
ment  in  Springfield,  111.,  by  Mead, 
Larken  G.,  182. 

LINCOLN,  OFFICE  CHAIR  OF:  picture, 
36. 

LINCOLN,  PHOTOGRAPHS  OF:  Brady's, 
frontispiece,  20,  86,  93,  97,  103, 
106,108,122,124,128,134,170,210; 
Fassett's,  71;  Gardner's,  88,  95, 
112,  118,  130,  132;  Gilmer's,  40; 
Hosier's,  58;  by  unidentified  pho 
tographers,  34,  42,  52,  60,  67,  82, 
84,  120. 

LINCOLN,  PICTURES  OF:  "Boy  Lin 
coln,  The,"  by  Eastman  Johnson, 
30;  "Lincoln,  by  the  Cabin  Fire," 
16;  "Rail  Splitter,  The,"  28. 

"LINCOLN,  POETIC  SPIRIT  OF":  in 
troduction  by  Marion  Mills  Miller, 
v. 

LINCOLN,  PORTRAIT  PAINTINGS  OF: 
"A  Study  of  Lincoln,"  by  Camp 
bell,  Blendon,  249;  in  "Lincoln 
and  Cabinet,"  by  Carpenter, 
Frank  B.,  206;  by  Hicks,  49. 

"LINCOLN,  PRESIDENT,  To,"  poem 
by  Edmund  Oilier,  96. 

"LINCOLN'S  CHURCH  IN  WASHING 
TON":  picture  of,  79;  poem  by 
Lyman  Whitney  Allen,  81. 

"LINCOLN,  SOLDIER  OF  CHRIST": 
poem  in  Macmillan's  Magazine,  85. 

LINCOLN,  SPEECHES  OF:  in  Independ 
ence  Hall,  Philadelphia,  68;  on 
leaving  Springfield,  65. 

LINCOLN,  STUDIES  OF:  by  Ball,  in 
Boston,  90,  and  in  Washington, 
188;  by  Bissell,  in  Edinburgh, 
Scotland,  231;  by  Borglum  in 
Newark,  N.  J.,  234,  236;  by  Flan- 
nery,  in  Washington,  199;  by 
French,  in  Lincoln,  Neb.,  226;  by 
Ganiere,  in  Burlington,  Wis.,  228;' 
by  Niehaus,  in  Muskegon,  Mich., 
203;  by  Ream,  in  Washington, 
222;  by  Rogers,  in  Philadelphia, 
208;  by  Saint  Gaudens,  in  Chicago, 
214;  by  Weinman,  in  Hodgenville, 
Ky.,  126;  by  Volk,  192. 

"LINCOLN  THE  LABORER":  poem  by 
Richard  Henry  Stoddard,  29. 

"LINCOLN  THE  MAN  OF  THE  PEOPLE"  : 
poem  by  Edwin  Markham,  74. 

"LINCOLN  BOULDER,  THE":  picture 
of,  243;  poem  on,  by  Louis  Brad 
ford  Couch,  244. 


INDEX 


259 


LINCOLN  HOMESTEAD,  Springfield, 
111.:  picture  of,  in  1861,  64;  in 
1865,  172. 

LINCOLN,  NANCY  HANKS,  mother  of 
Lincoln:  tomb  of,  25;  poem  on,  by 
Harriet  Monroe,  26. 

LINCOLN,  NEB.:  statue  of  Lincoln 
in,  by  French.  226. 

LINCOLN,  SARAH  BUSH,  stepmother 
of  Lincoln:  cabin  of,  62;  her  part 
ing  from  Lincoln,  63. 

LINCOLN,  THOMAS,  father  of  Lincoln: 
cabin  of,  62,  63. 

LINCOLN,  THOMAS  ("Tad"),  son  of 
Lincoln:  portrait  of,  103. 

LOCKE,  DAVID  R.,  see  NASBY,  PE 
TROLEUM  V. 

"Loo  CABIN,  THE,"  birthplace  of 
Lincoln:  picture  of,  13. 

LORD,  JAMES  JUDSON:  sketch  of,  183; 
poem  at  dedication  of  Lincoln 
Monument  at  Springfield,  111.,  by, 
183. 

LOWELL,  JAMES  RUSSELL:  sketch  of, 
189;  poem, "Commemoration Ode," 
by,  189. 


M 


MACKAY,  JAMES:  sketch  of,  181; 
poem,  "The  Cenotaph  of  Lincoln," 
by,  181. 

MACKAY,  ROBERT:  sketch  of,  151; 
poem,  "The  House  where  Lincoln 
Died,"  by,  151. 

MACMILLAN'S  MAGAZINE:  poem, 
"Lincoln,  Soldier  of  Christ,"  in, 
85. 

"MAN  LINCOLN,  THE":  poem  bv 
Wilbur  Dick  Nesbit,  113. 

MARKHAM,  EDWIN:  sketch  of,  74; 
poem,  "Lincoln  the  Alan  of  the 
People,"  by,  74. 

"MARTYR  PRESIDENT,  THE":  poem, 
219. 

MASON,  WALT:  sketch  of,  121;  poem, 
"The  Eyes  of  Lincoln,"  by,  121. 

"MASTER,  THE":  poem  by  Edwin 
Arlington  Robinson,  116. 

"MATCHLESS  LINCOLN,  THE":  poem 
by  Isaac  Bassett  Choate,  59. 

MEAD,  LARKEN  G.,  architect:  Lin 
coln  Monument  at  Springfield, 
111.,  by,  182. 

"MENDELSSOHN,  DARWIN,  LINCOLN"  : 
poem  by  Clarence  E.  Carr,  21; 
portraits  of,  20. 

MILLER,  MARION  MILLS:  editorial 
assistance  by,  in  "The  Poets'  Lin 
coln,"  Acknowledgment;  introduc 
tion  by,  v;  sketch  of,  146;  poem, 
"Lincoln  and  Stanton,"  by,  148. 

MITCHELL,  S.  WEIR:  sketch  of,  125; 
poem,  "Lincoln,"  by,  125. 

MONROE,  HARRIET:  sketch  of,  26; 
poems,  "Nancy  Hanks,"  26,  and 
"Lincoln,"  119. 

MUSKEGON,  MICH.:  statue  of  Lin 
coln  in,  by  Niehaus,  203. 

"MY  CHILDHOOD'S  HOME  I  SEE 
AGAIN":  poem  by  Lincoln,  vi. 


"NASBY,  PETROLEUM  V."  (David  R. 

Locke),  humorist:    Lincoln's  fond 

ness  for,  xx. 
"NATAL    DAY    OF    LINCOLN,    THE": 

poem  by   James   Phinney   Baxter, 

NESBIT,  WILBUR  DICK:  sketch  of, 
113;  poem,  "The  Man  Lincoln," 
by,  113. 

NEWARK,  N.  J.,  Statue  of  Lincoln  in, 
by  Borglum,  234,  236. 

NEWTON,  WILLIAM  WILBERFORCE: 
sketch  of,  32;  poem,  "Leader  of 
His  People,"  by,  32. 

NEW  YORK  AVENUE  PRESBYTERIAN 
CHURCH,  WASHINGTON:  picture  of, 
79. 

NEW  YORK  CITY:  obsequies  of  Lin 
coln  at,  162,  166. 

NICHOL.JOHN:  sketch  of,  204;  poem, 
"Lincoln,  1865,"  by,  204. 

NICOLAY,  JOHN  G.,  secretary  of  Lin 
coln:  his  account  of  Lincoln's  lec 
tures,  xix;  portrait  of,  67. 

NIEHAUS,  CHARLES,  sculptor:  statue 
of  Lincoln  by,  202. 

NYACK,  N.  Y.:  Lincoln  Boulder  at, 
243. 


OAK  RIDGE  CEMETERY,  SPRINGFIELD, 
ILL.:  views  in,  178,  180. 

"O  CAPTAIN!  MY  CAPTAIN!"  poem 
by  Walt  Whitman,  197. 

"ODE"  on  Lincoln's  obsequies:  by 
Henry  T.  Tuckerman,  163. 

"On,  PATIENT  EYES!"  poem  by  Her 
mann  Hagedorn,  107. 

"On,  WHY  SHOULD  THE  SPIRIT  OF 
MORTAL  BE  PROUD?"  by  William 
Knox,  favorite  poem  of  Lincoln, 
vi,  ix. 

OLDROYD,  OSBORN  H.:  editor  of 
"The  Poets'  Lincoln";  his  purpose, 
Foreword;  his  collection  of  Lincoln 
memorials,  Foreword;  owner  of 
Lincoln's  office  chair,  36. 

OLLIER,  EDMUND:  poem,  "To  Presi 
dent  Lincoln,"  by,  96. 

"ONE  OF  OUR  PRESIDENTS":  poem 
by  Wendell  Phillips  Stafford,  237. 

"ON  FREEDOM'S  SUMMIT":  poem  by 
Charles  G.  Foltz,  98. 

"O'REILLY,  MILES,"  see  HALPIN, 
CHARLES  GRAHAM. 


"PEACEFUL  LIFE,  A":  poem  by 
James  Whitcomb  Riley,  31. 

PHELPS,  ELIZABETH  STUART:  sketch 
of,  43;  poem,  "The  Thoughts  of 
Lincoln,"  by,  43. 

PHILADELPHIA:  speech  of  Lincoln  at, 
68;  statue  of  Lincoln  in,  by  Rogers, 
208;  tablet  to  Lincoln  in,  218. 

PIATT,  JOHN  JAMES:  sketch  of,  83; 
poem,  "Sonnet  in  1862,"  by,  83. 


260 


INDEX 


"POETICAL  TRIBUTE  TO  THE  MEM 
ORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN":  by 
Emily  J.  Bugbee,  201. 

"POETIC  SPIRIT  OF  LINCOLN":  in 
troduction  by  Marion  Mills  Miller, 
v. 

POLK,  JAMES  K.,  President:  Lincoln's 
arraignment  of.  xvi. 

"PRESIDENTIAL  CAMPAIGN,  1860": 
poem  by  William  Henry  Burleigh 
53. 

PROCTOR,  EDNA  DEAN:  sketch  of, 
186;  poem,  "The  Grave  of  Lin 
coln,"  by,  186. 

PUNCH  LONDON:  poem  on  "Abraham 
Lincoln  Foully  Assassinated,"  in, 
140. 


It 


"RAIL  SPLITTER,  THE":    picture,  28. 
REAM   VINNIE,   sculptor:    statue    of 

Lincoln  by,  222. 
REPEAL  OF  MISSOURI  COMPROMISE: 

Lincoln's  speech  on,  xv-xvii. 
REPUBLICAN  CONVENTION  OF   1860: 

reference  to,  50. 
"REQUIEM":    poem  by  James  Nicoll 

Johnston,  169. 
"REQUIEM  OF  LINCOLN":    poem  by 

Richard  Storrs  Willis,  167. 
"REST,  REST  FOR  HIM":    poem  by 

Harriet  McEwen  Kimball,  157. 
RILEY,  JAMES:   sketch  of,  37;   poem, 

"Lincoln  in  His  Office  Chair,"  by, 

37. 
RILEY,  JAMES  WHITCOMB:   sketch  of, 

31;    poem,  "A  Peaceful  Life,"  by, 

31. 
ROBINSON,     EDWIN    ARLINGTON: 

sketch  of,  116;    poem,  "The  Mas 
ter,"  by,  116. 
ROGERS,  RANDOLPH,  sculptor:  statue 

of  Lincoln  by,  208. 
ROTUNDA,  CITY  HALL,  NEW  YORK: 

picture    of,    at    time    of    Lincoln's 

obsequies,  166. 


SAINT  GAUDENS,  AUGUSTUS,  sculp 
tor:  statue  of  Lincoln  by,  214,  215. 

ST.  JAMES  HALL,  BUFFALO,  N.  Y.: 
picture  of,  at  time  of  Lincoln  ob 
sequies,  168. 

SANGSTER,  MARGARET  ELIZABETH: 
sketch  of,  109;  poem,  "Abraham 
Lincoln,"  by,  109. 

SCHUYLER,  HAMILTON:  sketch  of,  87; 
poem,  "A  Characterization  of  Lin 
coln,"  by,  87. 

"SCOTLAND  STATUE,  THE":  poem  by 
David  K.  Watson,  232. 

"SECOND  INAUGURAL,  LINCOLN'S": 
poem  by  Benjamin  Franklin  Tay 
lor,  104. 

"SERVICES  IN  MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM 
LINCOLN":  poem  by  Oliver  Wen 
dell  Holmes,  171. 

SEWARD,  WILLIAM  H.,  Secretary  of 
State:  suggests  closing  passage  of 


Lincoln's  First  Inaugural,  xxii- 
xxiii;  portrait  in  "Lincoln  and 
Cabinet,"  206. 

SHAKESPEARE:  Lincoln's  fondness  for, 
xvi— xix. 

SHERMAN,  FRANK  DEMPSTER:  sketch 
of,  239;  poem,  "On  a  Bronze  Medal 
of  Lincoln,"  by,  239. 

"Sic  SEMPER  TYRANNIS!",  poem  by 
Robert  Leighton,  139. 

SLAVERY:  Lincoln  on,  xii,  xv-xvii; 
the  Died  Scott  Decision,  42;  Lin 
coln  the  emancipator,  90,  91,  94, 
96,  98,  152,  161,  184,  187,  221,  229. 
232,  241. 

SMITH,  SAMUEL  FRANCIS:  sketch  of, 
222;  poem,  "The  Tomb  of  Lin 
coln,"  by,  223. 

SMITH,  WILBUR  HAZELTON:  sketch 
of,  35;  poem,  "Lincoln,"  by,  35. 

"SONNET  in  1862":  poem  by  John 
James  Piatt,  83. 

SPEED,  LUCY  G.:  autographed  por 
trait  of  himself  given  by  Lincoln 
to,  84. 

SPRINGFIELD,  ILL.:  homestead  of  Lin 
coln  at,  64,  172;  Lincoln's  funeral 
at,  172-181;  state  capitol  at,  175; 
public  vault  in  Oak  Ridge  ceme 
tery  at,  178,  180;  monument  to 
Lincoln  at,  182. 

"SPRINGFIELD'S  WELCOME  TO  LIN 
COLN":  poem  by  William  Allen,  173. 

STAFFORD.  WENDELL  PHILLIPS: 
sketch  of,  236;  poem,  "One  of  Our 
Presidents,"  by,  237;  reference  to, 
80. 

STANTON,  EDWIN  M.:  tribute  to 
Lincoln  dead,  144,  147;  portrait, 
146;  poem  on,  148;  portrait  of, 
in  "Lincoln  and  Cabinet,"  206. 

STEDMAN,  EDMUND  CLARENCE: 
sketch  of,  47;  poem,  "The  Hand  of 
Lincoln,"  by,  47;  poem,  "Honest 
Abe  of  the  West,"  by,  51. 

STEVENS,  HIRAM  F.:  tribute  to  Lin 
coln  by,  219. 

STEWART,  JAMES  M.:  poem,  "Let  the 
President  Sleep,"  by,  179. 

STICKLE,  THOMPSON:  designer  of 
monument  of  Nancy  Hanks  Lin 
coln,  25. 

STODDARD,  RICHARD  HENRY:  sketch 
of,  193;  passages  from  his  "Hora- 
tian  Ode,"  29,  159,  193. 

"STUDY  OF  LINCOLN,  A" :  painting  by 
Blendon  Campbell,  249. 


TAYLOR,  BAYARD,:  sketch  of  102; 
poem,  "Geyttsburg  Ode,"  by,  102. 

TAYLOR,  BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  :  sketch 
of,  104;  poem,  "Lincoln's  Second 
Inaugural,"  by,  104. 

TAYLOR,  TOM:  poem,  "Abraham  Lin 
coln,  Foully  Assassinated,"  by,  141. 

"THOUGHTS  OF  LINCOLN,"  THE: 
poem  by  Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps, 
43. 


INDEX 


261 


TlEFENTHALER,  JOSEPHINE  OLDROYD, 

child  guide  in  the  "House  where 
Lincoln  Died":  portrait,  150; 
reference  to,  151,  152. 

"TOMB  OF  LINCOLN,  THE":  poem  by 
Samuel  Francis  Smith,  223. 

TOWNSEND,  GEORGE  ALFRED:  sketch 
of,  126;  poem,  "Abraham  Lincoln," 
by,  127. 

TROWBRIDGE,  JOHN  TOWNSEND: 
sketch  of,  227;  poem,  "Lincoln," 
by,  227. 

TUCKERMAN,  HENRY  T.:  sketch  of, 
163;  "Ode"  on  Lincoln's  obse 
quies,  by,  163. 

TUFT,  JAMES  W.,  sculptor:  bas- 
relief  Head  of  Lincoln  by,  246. 


"UNFINISHED  WORK,  THE":  poem 
by  Joseph  Fulford  Folsom,  235. 

UNION,  THE:    Lincoln  on,  100,  102. 

USHER,  J.  P.,  Secretary  of  the  In 
terior:  portrait  of,  in  "Lincoln 
and  Cabinet,"  206. 


"VOICE  OF  LINCOLN,  THE,"  poem  by 
Elizabeth  Porter  Gould,  41. 

VOLK,  LEONARD  W.,  sculptor:  Life- 
Mask  of  Lincoln  by,  44;  cast  of 
Hand  of  Lincoln  by,  46;  statue  of 
Lincoln  by,  192. 


NX- 


WARD,  ARTEMUS  (Charles  F.  Browne) 
humorist:  Lincoln's  fondness  for, 
xx. 

WASHINGTON,  D.  C.:  statues  of  Lin 
coln  in,  by  Ball,  188;  Flannery, 
199;  Ream,  222;  marble  head  of 
Lincoln  by  Borglum,  in,  240;  Lin 
coln  Memorial  by  Bacon  in,  252; 


picture  of  Capitol,  73;  of  White 
House,  76;  funeral  of  Lincoln  in, 
154. 

WASHINGTON.  GEORGE:  Lincoln's 
poetic  tribute  to,  xix. 

WATSON,  DAVID  K.:  sketch  of,  232; 
poem,  "The  Scotland  Statue,"  by, 
232. 

WEBSTER,  DANIEL:  originator  of 
closing  sentence  of  Lincoln's  Get 
tysburg  speech,  xxi,  xxii. 

WEINMANN,  ADOLPH  A.,  sculptor: 
statue  of  Lincoln  by,  126. 

WELLES,  GIDEON,  Secretary  of  the 
Navy:  portrait  of,  in  "Lincoln  and 
Cabinet,"  206. 

WELLS,  AMOS  RUSSELL:  sketch  of, 
250;  poem,  "Had  Lincoln  Lived," 
by,  251. 

"WHEN  LINCOLN  DIED":  poem  by 
James  Arthur  Edgerton,  247. 

"WHERE  LINCOLN  WORSHIPPED": 
picture  of  N.  Y.  Ave.  Presbyterian 
Church,  Washington,  79. 

WHITE  HOUSE  AT  WASHINGTON: 
picture  and  description  of,  76; 
funeral  of  Lincoln  in,  154. 

WHITMAN,  WALT:  autographed  por 
trait  of,  196;  sketch  of,  197;  poem, 
"O  Captain!  My  Captain!"  by,  197. 

WHITNEY,  HENRY  C.:  author  of 
"Life  of  Lincoln,"  v;  on  Lincoln|s 
poetic  sensibility,  xi,  xxi;  on  his 
habit  of  reading,  16;  on  Lincoln  as 
a  lawyer,  34. 

WHITTIER,  JOHN  GREENLEAF:  sketch 
of,  91;  poem,  "The  Emancipation 
Group,"  by,  91;  reference  to,  v. 

"WIGWAM,  THE,"  Republican  con 
vention  hall,  Chicago,  1860:  pic 
ture  of,  50. 

WILCOX,  ELLA  WHEELER:  sketch  of, 
241;  poem,  "The  Glory  that  Slum 
bered  in  the  Granite  Rock,"  by, 
241. 

WILLIS,  RICHARD  STORRS:  sketch  of, 
167;  poem,  "Requiem  of  Lincoln," 
by,  167. 


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